


When Fate Decides

by AzaleaBlue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Auror Ron Weasley, BAMF Ron Weasley, Complex relationships, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 15:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzaleaBlue/pseuds/AzaleaBlue
Summary: Ron returns years later to the only woman he has ever loved- the one whose heart he ruthlessly broke before leaving. But who said the path to redemption was ever easy? Fate sometimes has crazy ways of bringing people together. A journey of a man to find his lost love through the twirling pathways riddled with lust, jealousy, heartbreak and often hopelessness.





	1. Old Acquaintances, New Relations

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts. And although the initial chapters have Hermione in a relationship with Draco Malfoy- I assure you this is NOT A DRAMIONE. Please bear with him for the sake of the story which I assure is all Romione. The inclusion of Draco is a necessary plot point which will become evident as the story progresses.  
> Additionally, everything in this story is canon compliant (excluding the Epilogue or Cursed Child), except that Hermione's neither modified her parents' memories nor were they sent to Australia. 
> 
> Special kudos to my beta @callieskye. Additional mention: This story is dedicated to one of my internet besties @jenn582 .
> 
> This story was first published on FFN back in 2014. This is the edited and polished version of the same, updated as and when we finish the editing each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMP Please note: This story is a ROMIONE. No matter what it seems like in the initial chapters, this is NOT A DRAMIONE. I realise, for an ardent Romione shipper, the Draco/Hermione scenes must be difficult and you are by no means under compulsion to read it. But having Draco as a (sort of) love interest for Hermione is crucial to the plot.   
> This has not been tagged as a Draco/Hermione because it is NOT A DRAMIONE.

**Chapter 1: Old Acquaintances, New Relations**

Ron stood outside the pale yellow door with the familiar nameplate, contemplating his decision for the hundredth time that morning. The very fact that she hadn't visited or even replied to his owl since his return a week earlier spoke volumes. Maybe he should have accompanied Harry and Ginny as Harry had suggested. He took a tentative step back but decided against it. He was done running away. They would eventually have to meet at the Burrow the following week. It would do better not to have their first meeting in front of the entire family for he wasn't sure what she would set on him this time.

Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, he rang the bell and gripped the bouquet tightly, smiling to himself at the hilarity of his situation. He, Auror Ronald Weasley, famed to be the most ruthless Dark wizard catcher of his time, was afraid of facing the petite young woman residing on the other side of the door. But anyone who knew her would agree that it was not the least bit funny to be scared of her.

Hermione was flipping through the papers for her recent case when the door bell rang. She was still in her pyjamas. It was a Sunday, and she wasn't really expecting anyone so early. Putting on her housecoat, she walked to the door and peeped out. All she could see was a white button down shirt. Her visitor was definitely tall enough to have her eye hole at his mid-chest level. Gripping her wand tightly, she opened the door a fraction and looked up.

What she hadn't imagined even in her wildest dreams was the tall handsome redhead who stood somewhat self-consciously, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

"Ahem… Hermione? " Ron stammered at the girl who had haunted his dreams all these years. The first look of surprise held in her eyes ceased and gave way to something else. Now, it held no anger or hurt; in fact, it held nothing. It was the shutdown of all emotions that hurt Ron more than all those canaries had back in their sixth year or her punches during their run from Voldemort.

"Will you let me come in? Please?" he asked, sure she would turn him away.

After a moment's hesitation which felt much longer to Ron, she finally moved aside, opening the door to let him in. He followed her skeptically, and she gestured at the familiar couch he used to lounge on years ago. The living room was much the same as he remembered with the exception of her enormous bookshelf. It seemed to have swelled in size to accommodate her entire collection.

Ron finally handed her the bouquet, having almost forgotten about it from sheer nerves. She took it tentatively, muttered soft thanks but all without meeting his eyes. Gesturing again at the couch, she went in, to what Ron knew to be her bedroom.

As he sat down waiting, he realized how beautiful she had grown in the past six years. Even with her pyjama bottoms peeping out of the housecoat and the tousled up hair bunched in a messy knot, she looked breathtaking.

Hermione clutched the bouquet hard as she moved towards her dresser. Leaving the flowers on it, she moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of denims and a plain gray top. She wasn't dressing up for Ron: quite the opposite in fact. The only reason for her changing was that she felt oddly uncomfortable in her pyjamas in front of him. It was as if he was a stranger and not someone she had known for more than half her life, and quite intimately in fact for a few glorious months. Steadying her breath and managing her hair into a passable ponytail, she crept out of her room.

The man was still on the couch; shoulders slumped, palms under his chin. He appeared fitter than she had ever seen him. His hair was shorter than ever, and yet, the ginger fringe still fell over his eyes, just the way she remembered. His crisp white shirt and well fitting cargo pants were a testimony to the fact that the lanky, tall boy from her school was now a grown up man.

At the sound of her footsteps he looked up at her, and Hermione noticed that it was his eyes that had changed the most. Gone was the sapphire blue that twinkled with mirth and mischief. They were deeper now, as if he had seen more than he ought to have in his short twenty-five years.

Ron looked up expectantly. He could have taken her shouting, calling him names; it was her silence that broke his heart. Realizing that he would have to be the first to speak, he got up and moved towards her but stopped abruptly as she seemed to back away from him. Merlin! What did the woman think he was going to do?

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he looked at her eyes as she resolutely looked away. It did not escape his notice that she had changed into something else, and knowing her as he did, it wasn't done to impress him either. Whatever he had expected from their meeting, this was going far worse.

"Hermione, I can see you don't want me here," he exhaled, and since she didn't comment, continued. "I guess I should have gotten the hint when you didn't come to the Burrow last Sunday, or reply to my owls for that matter. But, you know, I can be a little dense at times," he laughed a hollow laugh.

She moved into the dining area and he followed in silence. Putting the kettle on to boil, she pulled a chair at the table.

"Please sit," she motioned offering the chair opposite to her. The formal tone didn't go amiss, and Ron wondered how much more pain this visit would leave him with. He did as she asked and waited for her to fetch the tea before speaking again.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, pulling strength from the steaming cup in his hands. "I am sorry for all I said and did, Hermione." He looked up pleadingly, and for once, her eyes met his gaze.

"I won't ask you your reasons for leaving, Ron," she declared. "I have long accepted that you did what you wanted to. At least one of us was happy."

"What if I want to tell you the reasons, Hermione?" he inquired earnestly.

"You didn't bother when I needed that explanation, Ron, did you? Then why now? I told you, I don't want to know," she announced with a finality which Ron found reflected in her eyes.

The silence was thick as pleading blue eyes met the brown, searching desperately for the girl he once knew. But if the brown eyes held anything, it was sheer indifference. With a deep sigh of regret, Ron got up to leave. Just outside the door, he paused.

"Why, in all these years haven't you told anyone that… that we ended our engagement?" he managed with difficulty. It still pained him to think of it. "Not even Harry or Ginny?" he added, looking up at her. She had followed him to the door and was again resolutely looking away.

At his question, she met his eyes, and for a flicker, he thought he saw the anger and the hurt. "It was your story to tell, Ron, considering it was you who called it off."

And with that, she shut the door in his face.

...

Ron stood outside, facing the wood she had just closed on him. He looked back at the nameplate, imagining her leaning on her side of the wall, hoping against hope that she hadn't shut the door on their relationship forever, hoping that he could pacify her somehow.

Could he not force it open and make her listen to him just this once? Could he not beg her to take him back, again? Could he not kiss her senseless like he wanted to ever since he saw her in her pajamas, and simply make the hurt go away- both his and hers?

No, he couldn't, answered a voice inside him. Not this time. He had broken her that fateful night six and a half years ago, and nothing he did or said, could pardon his actions. She wouldn't let him explain. And honestly, what explanation could he provide? He would only sound lame, and if truth be told, like a pompous git. Would he ever be able to explain all that had made him make the most painful decision of his life?

He slowly walked away from her flat and on reaching the narrow bi-lanes down the street, apparated away to a clearing in the orchard outside his childhood home.

...

Hermione indeed stood leaning on the door as Ron had imagined. It was as if her whole life had come to a standstill. Seeing Ron again was like a punch in the gut. It angered her to no end that he could still create turmoil of emotions in her head and heart, even after so many years, even after her resolve to have closed that chapter once and for all.

She slid down the door and landed in a heap on the floor. Pulling her knees close to her body for some sort of comfort, she stared unseeing at the blank wall ahead. Did he invoke love? No, pain was more like it; pain, rejection, betrayal and humiliation.

Where did he get the nerve to come knocking at her door after all this time?

The cool demure she had managed to keep was slowly fading, giving way to anger. Or maybe he thought she could be convinced by his sob stories? Surely his assumption was based on the fact that everyone, their families and even Harry and Ginny still thought they were engaged?

It was only when she hit the bed that she realized she had been walking. A look at the dresser and the bouquet he had brought fumed her insides, intensifying the pain in her chest. She picked them up and threw the bunch away; the ribbon holding the stems came loose, scattering and tearing the yellow petals all over the floor. Breaking down finally, she walked to her study and jotted down a hasty note before tying it on her owl, Athena, and sending the bird away.

Somewhere far away, a man opened his window to let in a brown tawny owl and smiled at the familiar handwriting.

'I need you.' it said.

He folded the note and pulling on a black turtleneck over his bare torso, disapparated.


	2. Conversations and Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a much-needed reminder - this is a ROMIONE, NOT A DRAMIONE. If you are a Ron fan like us, please bear with the Draco/Hermione portions for the sake of the plot. As always, reviews will be much appreciated.

* * *

He apparated with a loud crack in her living room and looked around. Everything seemed normal at first, but then Draco saw the scattered roses on the floor. Wondering what the flowers had done to deserve that kind of retribution, he maneuvered around them to enter her bedroom. There she was on the floor: at the foot of the bed and holding her knees to her chin. She lifted her face and he saw tear stains and bloodshot eyes.

He quickened his pace and took his place on the floor next to her. As their shoulders touched, she looked up at him with undisguised pain.

"He is back, Draco. Ron is back," she muttered softly looking away.

Draco looked at the broken girl next to him and for a moment, the ever-in-control mask slipped to reveal the insecure man within. But only for a second, and then the controlled visage was back in place. One couldn't be a Malfoy without being an expert at hiding their true feelings, and as much as Draco despised his family and his name, some traits were innate in his genes.

Turning slightly to face her, he took her right hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Using his free hand to gently tuck away a curl that had come loose from her hair-tie, he caressed her cheek with his thumb before continuing softly.

"He has been in town for a week now. The Daily Prophet is in frenzy over his return. You knew that Hermione." He paused and exhaled softly, continuing slowly and in a more controlled voice. "And honestly, he has been sending you letters too, hasn't he?"

"Yes," she managed and seemed to gulp down a sob. "But I threw them all away, Draco," she confessed, meeting his eyes with her tear filled ones. "I-I didn't expect him to come down h-here!" she said shaking her head, biting her lip in distress as more tears spilled and she looked away.

Draco gripped her hand a little harder at that revelation but distraught as she was, Hermione never noticed.

"And… What does he want?" he asked slowly.

She chuckled bitterly, "He wants to explain himself."

"Now? After six and a half years, he wants to explain himself?"

She made a disgruntled sound and placed her head on his shoulder, wiping away the steady stream with the back of her hand.

Hermione often claimed that she had moved on, insisted (a little too much, if he was honest) that she was over Ron Weasley. As much as he wished to believe her, he was plagued by lingering doubts. He tried to push it aside as baseless jealousy and often succeeded, but her reaction to Weasley's visit brought his most bothersome concerns to the fore.

"What did he say?" he asked, forcibly ignoring the squirming in his heart.

"What makes you think I listened to his sob stories?" she spat and pushed him away furiously.

As surprised as he was by her reaction, he pulled her back in his arms and gently rubbed her back. Ronald Weasley definitely had a way of getting under her skin like no one else could. Draco hated it. He hated that Weasley's mere presence could shake her up so much; Hermione always insisted that she had moved on and he desperately wanted to believe her. He wanted to ask why it still bothered her. He wanted her to tell him that the redhead meant nothing to her, but he knew that to push now would be foolish, and decided to let it rest, if only for the time being. So he pressed his lips to her shoulder in a chaste kiss. She responded by scooting closer to him and clutching him harder. Taking this as a positive sign, he took her face in his hands.

"Hermione Jean Granger, listen to me carefully as I say this-" He tilted her chin up and she met his eyes, distress still evident in them. "What is past is past, we can't change it. But this-", he gestured to them with a slight nod, "- _this_ is our present. And _nothing_ can change it. I don't care who returns from the past; I am not letting you go anywhere, Hermione."

She audibly sobbed into his chest, holding him tightly and he returned her gesture in kind by pulling her close for a kiss. Tear laden lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and he deepened the kiss, holding her tighter still. Her fingers moved into his hair and he let out a small moan at the feel of her body pressed against his. It wasn't simple physical arousal, it was deeper: the basic instinct to guard what was now his and his alone. His hand curled in the hair at her nape, her hair-tie lost as he poured his heart into his actions.

...

Ron sat under the old oak tree, tearing the dry, golden leaves into pieces. The sun was overhead now and the heat and sweat made his shirt cling to his body. Opening a few of the buttons, he pulled the shirt off and dropped it unceremoniously at the foot of the tree. Then he pulled his trousers off, and they joined the previously discarded clothing. Retrieving his wand from one of the pockets and clad only in his boxers, he walked towards the pond slowly.

"Planning to seduce someone with that view, are you?"

He turned in a flash, his heightened senses on alert and pointed his wand at the source of the sound.

"Hold on mate! Just me!" yelled Harry, arms raised in mock surrender as he walked into the clearing. Ron lowered his wand and turned away.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a bloke like that," he responded with a hollow laugh. "And what are you doing here anyway? Weren't you supposed to be out shopping with Ginny?"

"She's gone out with your Mum and Angelina for a change," Harry replied grinning. "So I thought I could relax for a bit and cool off with a swim."

Ron waited as Harry dropped his shirt and trousers next to his pile, and both men then proceeded to dive into the cool waters after placing their wands on the bank.

Six laps across the length later, Harry swum to the shallow end. Getting out of the pond, he picked up both their wands and walked towards the oak tree, casually laying Ron's wand next to their clothes. The redhead was now finishing his tenth lap and swimming towards him. Once dressed, Harry sat down on a fallen log in the shade of the trees facing away from the clearing. During the summer holidays while at Hogwarts, the duo often spent their time in this very same orchard.

"Where's the rest of the family?" asked Ron from behind him and Harry turned to face his best friend. He had missed Ron sorely the past six years and relished the sound of his voice, a smile forming on his lips easily.

But one glance at his best mate and he gasped aloud.

Striding straight up in front of Ron, he stared open mouthed at the tall ginger clad only in his trousers who was now picking up his shirt. But what Harry couldn't stop looking at was Ron's bare torso. His entire chest was marred with cuts which seemed to have been stitched roughly together the Muggle way. The skin over the cuts, though now long healed, looked swollen and darker in colour than his otherwise pale and freckled skin. It appeared to have been slashed many times over with a knife by a maniac; no one in their right mind could do such a thing to another human being.

"What's this?" he asked appalled. Ron casually picked up his wand, and silently waved it over his chest. The scars disappeared under a layer of false skin, and the ginger proceeded to pull on his shirt. Harry realised that the concealment charm had probably broken sometime during their swim.

Once he had finished buttoning up, Ron sat on the log and turned to Harry who was still rooted to the spot waiting for an explanation, each passing second making him more furious.

"So where is everyone?" the ginger asked, daring to pretend as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Harry huffed as he went to stand directly in front of his best mate and glared; anger rendering him almost speechless.

"RON WEASLEY, STOP ACTING SMART!" he yelled once he had found his voice."What the hell happened to you?! You disappear for six fucking years on some Godforsaken assignment and you return with these?!" he gestured wildly at Ron's chest.

"We were told nothing about your whereabouts all this time, nothing at all, Ron! Do you fucking understand?" he spat, " _Nothing_ apart from Kingsley's rare assurances that you were ' _fine_ '. And now, you appear with bloody knife marks? These would've put Bellatrix's idea of torture to shame, and you act as if it's normal?!"

He threw his hands up in frustration and began pacing to and fro to let the steam off.

"Harry… mate, look it's not as bad as you think. Just a part of the job! You know how it works, right?" Ron said quietly, looking up at him. "Just-just don't mention it to anyone," he added softly.

Harry paused mid-step and turned to face his best mate again.

"Well Ron, _you know what_? I think it's _worse_ than what I think. Do you reckon I haven't noticed your silence since your return? Let me tell you, you git, we all have. We just assumed that it was because of Hermione. And that reminds me, weren't you supposed to meet her? Where the hell is she?" he asked suddenly, looking around as if expecting to find her lurking behind the trees somewhere.

Ron couldn't decide for sure if he ought to be thankful for the change in topic or not; they were still treading dangerous waters. He was suddenly feeling very tired, and all he wanted was a lie-down. Not very eager to disclose the uncomfortable truth about their morning encounter yet, he decided to gloss over the facts.

"That didn't go too well, to say the least. Can you believe, she didn't even offer me any food?" he managed with a grin, which he knew didn't reach his eyes.

That, however, seemed to do the trick marginally for Harry shook his head sadly and sat down with a bitter smile.

"What did she say?"

"Not much," he shrugged, "She wouldn't be Hermione Granger if I could pacify her so easily, now would she?"

Harry let out a mirthless chuckle. "She was miserable, mate. Came down to the Burrow every Sunday for months after you left. Spent most of the time with your Mum. Ginny caught them crying and consoling each other on quite a few occasions," he exhaled sadly, "but of course, she didn't interrupt. It was as if only they understood each other's grief. Then, she joined Law school and took up lodging in the university premises. Would come down occasionally to meet us here, though."

Ron felt his throat constrict imagining his mother and the love of his life sitting at their dining table, crying over him. He looked away, concentrating hard on a broken branch a little ahead instead. A part of him wasn't sure he wanted to hear how much he had hurt her, and yet another wanted to know more. Maybe it was some pathetic desire on his part? Maybe all he wanted to hear was that behind all that indifference, she still cared for him, missed him too perhaps?

"And yet, she hasn't come down once since I've returned," he sighed, "Apparently, she sent Mum an owl telling her that she was a little caught up at work, and will try be here on Thursday."

He wondered if Hermione expected him to be away somewhere when she came to visit.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "She needs some time, Ron. She'll come round. You do have six years of worth of hurt to wash away before she forgives you, though."

Ron did not have the will to tell his friend that he was only half correct. Harry and Ginny had waited for six long years, only in the hope of having Ron at their wedding. The last thing Ron wanted now was to draw attention towards his broken relationship with Hermione. Surely a couple of weeks wouldn't hurt? Once the wedding was over, and everything else was settled, he could break the news. He knew a part of him was delaying it for selfish reasons. Maybe, _just maybe_ , he could make Hermione see his side of the story by then? Maybe they could get together again, and no one would need to know anything else? And yet, he knew how far-fetched that idea was. Most importantly, how on earth could he keep their situation under wraps from everyone if she behaved the way she did?

Picking himself up from the log, he stretched his back muscles before turning towards Harry.

"Come on, Harry. I definitely need to grab a bite. Hope Mum left something for us."

Harry followed with a shrug, and only when the Burrow was in sight did he softly add, "I haven't forgotten that you didn't tell me how you got those scars, Ron. I know you'll tell me when you're ready. I do hope it's soon, though."  
Ron nodded once. He wasn't quite sure when he would be ready for the confession; _if he would ever be ready at all.  
_ "And then, I can murder Kingsley myself for sending you wherever he did," huffed his best mate and shaking his head indignantly, walked past him into the house, leaving a smiling Ron in his wake. At least, some things were just the same as always.


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a much-needed reminder - this is a ROMIONE, NOT A DRAMIONE. If you are a Ron fan like us, please bear with the Draco/Hermione portions for the sake of the plot. As always, reviews will be much appreciated. As always beta credits to @callieskye

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Draco pulled out the bottle of Firewhiskey and poured himself a generous drink. Drinking was not a normal part of his regular night-time routine, but this was one of those rare nights when he needed the extra help to calm his jittery nerves. Normally the thought of a pretty, curly-haired witch did the trick; ironically the very same person was the cause of his unease tonight.

The night was quiet and moonless, and he moved to the balcony of his tenth floor flat, the partly filled glass still in his hand. Looking out at the concrete jungle that lay before him, he suddenly longed for the vast open lawns and acres of forest that were visible from the Victorian windows of his room at the Manor.

The memories stirred up other images from his past that he preferred to forget. He gulped down the entire contents the glass to rid himself of the bitterness that clawed at his heart and went in for a refill.

It was about time he retired for the night. As he pulled off his turtleneck, a whiff of her lingering fragrance hit him, bringing his thoughts back to the girl who meant the world to him. A dull ache gnawed his insides as her tearstained face appeared before his eyes.

_It had been years since they parted. Wasn't she done crying over him yet?_

His glass was empty again, and in a rare display of anger, he threw it against the wall and shards of glass flew everywhere.

Seven years, _seven fucking years_...

That was how long it had taken him to get his life out of the stink hole Lucius had created for the Malfoys. He was barely out of Hogwarts when he was dragged into court the first time. And then numerous times post that. Initially for persecution in Dumbledore's murder case, and later, to stand witness to the atrocities committed by the maniacs who had flooded his home that year. He couldn't fathom what was worse, seeing hundreds tortured, murdered and raped in a place he used to call home, or reliving those horrors for the jury, over and over again.

Thanks to Potter he was acquitted of the attempt-to-murder charges, all of them – Katie, Ron, and Dumbledore. The guilt remained. Saint Potter, unfortunately, couldn't help him there.

But it was then that he decided he wanted to pursue law- to give those like him a second chance: a chance to live again, to repent, and to make the right choice. If only fighting the brand of an Ex-Death Eater was that easy. The jibes he faced during his Law education made the verbal fights with the Gryffindors back at Hogwarts sound like playful banter. Loneliness wasn't new to him, but being treated like scum was sheer torture.

And then she came along.

A smile graced his lips unawares at the memory. Hermione started at University a year after him, and he saw her for the first time in the University library which had become a sanctum of sorts for him. She was the only one kind enough never to throw a rude comment at him, and that drew him to her. While most if not all the students felt it to be their birthright to mock and hex him in the corridors, Hermione never took part in it. He never heard a word from her, directly or in passing, against him, whereas, if he was being honest, she should have had the most to say. She, more than most, had all the right reasons to curse him to hell and back.

He spent the second year and a half of his third concentrating with all his might on his books, and a considerable amount of his free time staring at the curly-haired girl in the library. She was a loner like him, and although had a fair following of admirers, thanks to her War heroine status, preferred to keep to herself, always with at least four huge volumes open in front of her. Draco remembered watching her as she sat making notes referring to multiple books simultaneously. He remembered the way she used to furrow her brows and bite her lower lip in concentration. He remembered those times he saw her stare unseeing at the window while her eyes glazed with unshed tears before she angrily wiped them away and continued to read.

It was during his final six months at the end of the third year that something miraculous happened.

The new ministry was editing the age old laws pertaining to enslaved magical creatures and house-elves. As an under-trainee at the time, it was his job was to submit a paper on elf-enslavement and their working conditions. He was also required to submit suggestions to improve the same. However, along with the project brief, he was instructed to research the report with another student.

"To get a complete picture," he remembered being told by his professor, who at least had the decency to look a little sympathetic. Draco had only nodded in agreement, realising it for what it actually was. The label Best Student of the Year ensured that he got the opportunity to work on such an important piece, but the faculty was still worried about his ability to give an unbiased report. And that was where Hermione Granger came into the picture: a year junior to him but an exceptionally brilliant witch, the brains of the Golden Trio and champion of the weak and underprivileged.

Draco would always consider those six months the best of his life.

They worked, they argued, they debated and the most unexpected of friendships blossomed. And the best part was that, for reasons unknown to him, she came with a blank slate. How she managed it with a git like him, Draco had no clue. But she never brought up their past, his family or upbringing while they worked on their report.

When he argued that the elves loved being enslaved, she countered that it was years and years of subjugation that had caused them to accept the cruelty and consider it justified. There was never a single derogatory comment about the condition of his family's elves at the Manor. Never a snide remark or 'Remember Dobby whom your father tortured and your Aunt murdered?'

It was a refreshing change from the isolation and misery that his life had was a breath of fresh air and he marvelled at her wit, her heart; finally realising why Potter and Weasley clung on to her. Many months later, he finally found the courage to ask her how she had it her heart to give him a chance.

She smiled in the way he was now so familiar with: the smile that held a small hint of sadness behind those brown pools. "People change Draco, the good way and otherwise..."

Though the frequency of their meetings increased, it never went beyond the boundaries of the University walls. Both were aware that the Daily Prophet would consider their friendship a scoop bigger than the breaking up of the Weird Sisters Band. And a media frenzy was something neither of them fancied. So they met with their books, parchments, and quills within the Library's walls. Once Draco completed his education and took up his flat in London, they'd meet at his home, no one was any wiser.

The next year, she completed her degree, scoring the highest marks in a century. She secured a job in the Ministry, in the very same department as his.

To everyone they were good colleagues, a pair who worked well together. No one knew of the late night muggle movies at his flat or the laughter they shared, and certainly not of the occasional hugs. No one knew that he was allowed to apparate into her house, or that the wards were set to allow him entry anytime of day. Most importantly, he was the only one privy to her biggest secret, the one which even Potter himself was not aware of.

It happened one stormy night after a particularly soppy romantic movie. He had planned to tease her about her choice, but had instead found her in uncontrollable tears. She had needed nothing more than an embrace, one that he had intended to keep friendly despite what his heart truly desired, and she had broken down completely in his arms. With the rain lashing at the windows that night, Hermione had finally confessed to the guy who had always been their childhood nemesis about her childhood love – Ron Weasley. She confessed how she had always loved Ron, and how he had left her heartbroken and shattered.

Draco had pulled her in his arms and wiped her tears away. He kissed her for the first time that day, and and surprisingly, she had not pulled away. Maybe he'd had finally earned her trust, or perhaps she had been too tired to bear her grief alone, he couldn't say for sure.

He remembered wondering if it was simply because she needed someone and he had happened to be there. But so deprived was his heart and life that he had clung on it- she had reciprocated, and that was all that mattered.

They hadn't come out in the public about their relationship. Draco remembered the day when they sat having tea at her apartment. She had been working on a case while he read the Prophet, which had a huge article on Neville Longbottom's engagement to Luna Lovegood-

_"A couple of your friends got engaged," he said._

_"Yeah, I saw," she replied, still bent over a long parchment._

_Draco wondered what she thought about their relationship. No one had the faintest clue, not even Harry or Ginny. He wondered if she felt insecure about him not making it public. He wondered if it made her doubt his commitment._

_He'd walked up to her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, slowly massaging away the knots in her muscles. Hermione gave a pleasant sigh and closed her eyes as she leant back in her chair. As he worked on her tired muscles, he wondered how to frame his concern in words._

_"Hermione..."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Do you ...I mean... Would you prefer if we told your friends about our relationship? " he asked tentatively._

_"No."_

_"No?" he was surprised. The tiny seed of doubt buried deep in his heart raised its ugly head. Was she worried about her reputation if people knew she was involved with an Ex-Death Eater?_

_She opened her eyes and with a breathtaking smile, grasped his hand in hers. She then proceeded to guide them to the couch and took a seat close to him, her head resting on his shoulder._

_"We'll tell everyone. But first, I want them to know the real Draco Malfoy. I want them to see the man you've become. I want them to see you for who have grown into. You have done it yourself and no one but you should get the credit for this change. Once they know that man, I'll come out as the lucky girl who gets him for her very own."_

And at that moment Draco knew he couldn't possibly have been more blessed. He realised she was only avoiding the scenario where people would consider their relationship as an attempt by the Malfoys to improve their public image. He knew that he could love her with all his heart for his entire life and yet it would still be less than what she deserved.

A searing pain tore him from his musings and back into the uncomfortable present. A piece of shattered glass that had fallen on the table was now protruding from his right palm. Wincing in pain, he pulled it out and repaired the glass with his wand. Walking to the potions cabinet, he pulled out a tiny vial of Dittany and poured a drop on the open wound, causing it to sizzle and burn, almost cherishing the physical pain that dulled the one in his heart.

He wasn't ready to lose her. The thought itself was enough to drive him insane. There was no way he could let her go. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from worrying about a certain redhead who still had a crazy hold on her, no matter how much Hermione insisted otherwise.


	4. A Threat and a Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a much-needed reminder - this is a ROMIONE, NOT A DRAMIONE. If you are a Ron fan like us, please bear with the Draco/Hermione portions for the sake of the plot. As always, reviews will be much appreciated. As always beta credits to @callieskye

Tuesday morning found Hermione flipping through the medical report that she had requested from St Mungo's. Her key witness in her present case, Patrick, was still under the effect of the Inscius curse and wasn't showing any sign of recovery. Her client, Henry Beckford, a ninety-year-old wizard, had been booked for assault and attempted murder of his neighbour, the very same man who lay unconscious in the hospital. With Patrick being both the victim and the only witness they had, she keenly awaited his recovery. She had managed to convince the Wizengamot to hold off on sentencing untill he was able to give testimony. However, the delay in his recovery also meant that her case now stood at a standstill.

A furious pecking on the desk drew her attention away from the pile of parchments. With an annoyed glance she found Ron's owl watching her keenly. The moment Pig realised he had captured her attention, he began fluttering excitedly.

Groaning audibly, she proceeded to untie the letter; the tiny owl stood uncharacteristically still as she unravelled the scroll. It seemed he had been specifically instructed to behave. She was relieved to find the letter was from Ginny and not Ron. Had it been from the latter, like its predecessors, it would have quickly found a place in the waste bin beneath her desk. The magical bin would chomp it down to bits, cutting off all possibilities of her picking it up at a later time, even if she so wished.

A smile slowly spread across her face as she began reading. Ginny's letters were always a delight; this one did not disappoint.

_Hermione (it read),_

_I would rather get straight to the point than bore you with pleasantries (I am not feeling very warm towards you at the moment)._ _WHY HAVEN'T YOU COME DOWN TO THE BURROW FOR THE PAST TEN DAYS?_

_You do realise, it's only four more days until the wedding don't you? Mum is seriously driving me insane and Harry is no better. If I knew he'd be so annoying I wouldn't have agreed to his proposal at all! (Just kidding, I love that dork!)_

_But you! How dare you skip our shopping date?! You haven't even tried on the dress I chose for you! (Yes, it's gold with shades of red as I always wanted it to be)._

_Kreacher has been popping in and out of Burrow to ask me EVERYTHING- from my favourite flowers to my favourite colour of toothbrush. If he visits once more just to inquire whether I have my toast with butter or jam or marmite or something equally stupid, I swear, I'm liable to do something horribly rash that will require you to get me out of Azkaban before I even get a chance to walk down the aisle._

_I have specifically asked Pig to peck at your desk till you read and reply to this. (I would have asked him to peck at you but a puckered maid-of-honour wouldn't look good in the pictures so I decided the desk would have to do instead). I hope you appreciate my restraint AND WRITE ME BACK!_

_I expect to see you home_ _tomorrow evening_ _, or I promise I'll send Howlers to your workplace until your Department throws you out!_

_All my love_

_Ginny_

_PS: Will you please talk to Ron so that he stops moping around like Moaning Myrtle? I am pretty sure you are still annoyed with him, and trust me I am completely with you on this. However, I plan on getting married only once and would rather have a happy brother than a mop as my husband's best man. So please, just knock some sense into him, will you? We all know only you can do it._

_See you soon._

_PPS. I was not joking about those howlers._

Hermione couldn't stop smiling as she re-rolled the letter. It was true that by distancing herself from Ron she had also pushed Harry and Ginny away, it hurt her conscience. She loved Harry and Ginny. What had happened between her and Ron was not their fault. She shouldn't take it out on them.

Harry had been the first to let her know that Ron was back, though Ginny's letter arrived shortly after, followed by another from Molly. She could almost feel Harry's joy as she read the letter. She couldn't deny that a knot deep in her heart had loosened at the news before she reminded herself of what he'd done. Harry had also let her know that they'd finally set a date for their wedding; her onslaught of painful memories had almost overshadowed the good news.

Harry had postponed the wedding indefinitely despite having proposed to Ginny four years ago. He wanted Ron as his best man; it couldn't be any other way for him. So they waited even though they had no clue when he'd return. It was no secret that Harry craved a family of his own and that Ginny too was equally eager to settle down. They'd been waiting for years, it was only natural they'd want to get married immediately now that Ron was home..

Hermione had promised Molly she'd be there on Thursday in an earlier letter. But with her case now stuck in a deadlock, she realised she'd be able to drop in a day earlier. She had no plans to stay at the Weasley home in the lead up to the wedding, but now, after Ginny's letter, it seemed visiting for a day at a time would be slightly problematic. It would have suited her just fine- a break from the hectic work schedule, a welcome change if only a certain redhead wouldn't be there.

She grabbed her quill, penned a crisp reply and sent it off with Pig.

_Howlers won't be necessary; I intend to keep my job. See you tomorrow!_

_Much love,_

_Hermione_

_PS: Don't hurt Kreacher._

She arranged her desk, made the parchments roll back and set themselves in proper slots in her cabinets and ensured all important items were locked away. It was past eight and she was exhausted. The Sunday afternoon spent with Draco had soothed her considerably and though reluctant, she was slightly more confident about being in the same room as Ron without losing her composure. Still, if possible she would rather avoid such a scenario altogether if possible.

Making sure she left a note for her secretary to notify all the key people about her unplanned leave, she packed her case and left the office quickly.

Once home, she penned a quick letter to Draco who was out of town for his case. She knew both the Burrow and Ron were sensitive issues with him, but she hoped her letter would assure him that she'd be okay. Promising that he could write to her and she would reply regularly, she sent Athena off.

After she'd had a shower and grabbed a quick sandwich, she packed her bag for the short stay away from home. Packing was something she always did the old Muggle way, it almost felt like therapy, and she needed it all the more now when her brain was already anxious about the impending meeting with a tall ginger bloke she'd rather not see.

Once her dresses, toiletries and other necessities were neatly stacked and arranged in the separate compartments of her travel bag, she picked up her wand to open the hidden safe inside her wardrobe. It was a wedding after all and she'd need a change of jewellery. She couldn't wear the same old studs she always wore. Going by Ginny's impeccable fashion sense, the bridesmaids' dresses were sure to be smashing. But it wasn't just that, Ginny had waited so long for this, it would break Hermione's heart to know she hadn't done everything in her power to make the day perfect. Hermione grudgingly realised that fancy earrings would hardly make up for her prolonged absence, but she had to start somewhere.

Pushing aside the sting of guilt, she searched for and eventually found the vintage jewellery case that had once belonged to her grandmother. She carefully opened the small case and smiled to herself on finding the favourite piece of gold she owned. A sleek pearl and ruby necklace done in gold, it looked like thin branches that came together to form a 'V' at the neck. The end of all the little branches held tiny pearls and at the centre of the 'V' there was a blood-red tear-shaped ruby. Little golden branched earrings with smaller rubies completed the set.

Hermione carefully put the piece back in the case and stored it in her bag. As she was about to close the locker, her eyes fell on an old wooden box; she had forgotten about it completely.

Keeping her wand aside, she picked up this other box gingerly and pretty much collapsed on her bed. _Too many memories_ , she thought closing her eyes momentarily and bit back the tears that threatened to escape. Her finger found and traced the floral carvings as she remembered how intrigued she had been the first time she had seen it. It had no latch, and upon first sight provided no indications as to how it would open. But then she had found it: a thin marking on the side that hid a sliding panel- the key to unlock the box.

She pushed the panel in a painfully practiced motion, and the lid opened, spilling the assortment of random things that had been stuffed inside all over her bed. A small teddy bear, a Chudley Cannon's t-shirt, a model toy broom that had no magic left to fly around, some old handwritten notes passed during class, a stack of old letters that had her and Harry's familiar writing on them, a deck of chocolate frog cards, a stack of old pictures from which two boys and a girl smiled up, and finally a small velvet box just the right size to hold a ring.

She picked up the last item and with trembling hands opened it. Her brain protested vehemently, telling her she shouldn't be doing this, reminding her how terrible the pain would be- but she couldn't stop herself. The velvet box held a simple gold band, she turned it to see the message inside- ' _Always yours'._ The tears that she had forcefully kept in check finally broke through and she could do nothing about the images that materialised in front of her.

_It was the day after Fred's burial. They had walked through the orchard holding hands: Hermione simply following his steps. Ron led them to a clearing that had an ancient oak tree and a pool. She stopped when he did, and when he stood with his back against the trunk she came forward to stand in front of him. He had been silent all day and all throughout the service. She had held onto him and cried on his shoulder but he had looked ahead with dry emotionless eyes. He had hugged his Mom as she wailed in his arms later that night, he had wiped away Ginny's tears. And yet, he had been frighteningly silent. Hermione knew he was hurting terribly, she wanted him to let out his grief, she had had no clue how to handle this grieving, silent Ron._

" _I've been thinking." He said surprising her. His voice was raw and she had to bite her lip to hold back her own tears as she looked into his eyes._

" _It's unpredictable. Life I mean…" he said struggling to find words,visibly choking on emotions that were trying to burst out of him._

" _We have lost so many… Fred…," he paused the pain in his eyes almost overwhelming. "And I know, no matter what we do, we'll lose everyone someday," he added with much difficulty, choking back a sob this time. "I can't even think about how close I came to losing you, so many times this past year alone!"_

_His tears were falling freely now. She bridged the little gap between them to hug him tightly as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, shaking with the release of pent up emotions. They had slumped down at the foot of the tree holding on to each other._

_It was after a long time when the tears dried up and their voices had become hoarse that he took her hand in his. Pulling a tiny box from his jeans pocket, he took out the ring surprising her._

" _This was my Grandmum's. She loved me best you know?" he added as if it still surprised him. "She met Grandpa when they were only kids and spent their whole lives together. She left this for me... to give to the special girl, who she said, would spend her lifetime with me. I know it's too early, Hermione, I know we're too young... and yet, I want you to have it if you will... because for me, it will always be you. Only you."_

_She'd cried through her smile and held up her hand as he placed the ring on her finger before claiming her lips with his. They knew it would be a long journey before they settled down- they were barely eighteen after all. But this ring she knew was a testimony to the love they shared, a promise and a bond that would only grow stronger._

_How wrong she had been_ she thought with a bitter chuckle to herself- _how terribly and utterly wrong._

She looked down at the ring again, and the pain seared through her being remembering all that she had lost. Life could have been so different, if only the ring still meant what Ron had promised. If only the ring was still truly hers. Another memory flashed in front of her eyes and she resigned herself to the pain she knew was coming.

_It was three weeks after Ron had mysteriously disappeared from his training camp. The search was on and yet, no one seemed to have any clues. Harry had almost driven himself sick as he worked long hours, only in the hope of finding some information about what had happened to Ron._

_After three miserable weeks of no word from the Ministry and believing Ron was dead, Kingsley finally came to the Burrow. As the family and Hermione gathered around the Minister of Magic fearfully, he told them that they had tracked Ron's magic- he was alive!_

_After a brief moment of panic when Kingsley paused before announcing that Ron was indeed alive the family erupted in cheers of hope before Molly cried out clung tightly to her husband as tears streamed down her face. But Ron was still nowhere. Kingsley told them that he had himself Apparated to the location and still had not been able to find Ron.. Harry had spent most of that night staring blankly at the fire in the hearth, even Ginny had not been able to convince him to lie down. Ron was alive. They had hope now._

_Later that night, Hermione had come down to the kitchen and seen Harry at the hearth but he had walked away, perhaps he didn't want company- or he couldn't face her? Hermione hadn't asked and Harry never told her._

_She hadn't slept in days, it felt like she hadn't really slept since the day Ron disappeared. She'd stayed at the Burrow, waiting- just like everyone else. As she held onto the steaming mug in her hands she allowed the tears to fall. Ron had broken up with her just before he left for the training camp and even before she could have come to terms with the heartbreak, he had disappeared. She was angry with him and yet she feared dearly for his life. Setting the mug down, she folded her arms on the table to rest her head while silent sobs wracked her body._

_The light pressure of a motherly hand on her shoulder caused her to look up to find a teary Molly standing next to her. As the older woman sat down and took her in her arms, Hermione had cried her heart out._

_And that is how it went for many nights. Every time Hermione came down to stay, the two women would share their tears in the dead of the night while the rest of the family slept. It was the only form of release she had, the only one that allowed her to function normally during the agonisingly long days which she spent hoping reverently for some news about the man she still loved so dearly._

_And then they found out._

_It was a few months after Ron's disappearance. Harry, who Apparated to Ron's location each and every time his magic was traced, was frustrated. They found traces of his magic and yet, not once could he find Ron or anyone else at the location. However, every time Kingsley would assure him that Ron was 'fine'. Finally, unable to track any real leads, Harry had taken the matter in his own hands and confronted the Minister himself._

_How was it possible that the information about Ron was with Kingsley and him alone?_

_And finally Kingsley relented, only partially though. The truth was scarier: Ron was on a mission, they were told, and it was something so confidential that even a slight breach could cost Ron his life. That was all they were told.. Kingsley simply refused to tell Harry anything else._

_That night Hermione sat at the kitchen table rolling the ring in her hand when Molly came downstairs. She had intended to tell the Weasley matriarch the truth but she hadn't even been able to confide in Harry. The older woman's grief at having lost one son to the war, and quite possibly another now, kept her from it. What was there to tell if Ron never made it home? That particular night, she had been utterly conflicted. She found herself wondering whether Ron fully understood what he was doing when he gave her the ring. Maybe it was just the emotionally charged situation that had triggered his actions, and he had later regretted proposing her?_

" _The ring looks lovely on you, dear." Molly's words pulled Hermione from her reverie._

" _I wonder if he knew what he was doing when he gave it to me," she said before she could stop herself._

" _I am sure he did," said the motherly old witch before handing her an old wooden box. "Open this," she instructed kindly._

 _Hermione was intrigued and it didn't her long to notice the secret slide panel that opened it_. _As the articles spilled out on the table she looked up at Molly in confusion. "What's this?" she asked._

" _Arthur bought him this when he was five. As you can see it has an extendable charm on it. It was to keep his favourite things safe from the twins and his younger sister. I found this in his room a few days ago," she mused fondly even as her voice choked. It took her a while before she spoke again. "He has always kept his most prized possessions in this box, Hermione. You'll find the case for your ring is in here as well. Ron knew what he was doing when he gave you the ring," she stated patting Hermione's hand, not realising how guilty the young witch was feeling. "I want you to keep this till he comes home."_

_Hermione had barely managed to hold her tears in check. She remembered moving her palm over the well-worn Chudley Cannons t-shirt, unable to gather the courage to tell the old witch that her son might not really want her to have something that was so dear to him. But she couldn't let go, she longed to keep these memories, to hold the traces of him- to own these things that were so quintessentially Ron._

" _If you doubt his feelings, keep the ring in this box till he returns. I know he'll give it to you again, this time after putting all your insecurities to rest," said Molly with utmost conviction. Hermione placed the ring in its case not because she believed the older witch, but because she should have removed it long ago anyway._

It took her longer to pull herself out of the impact of the memories; she had really thought she's left those days behind- apparently not. Slowly, she returned Ron's treasures to the box and closed it. Then, moving to her study she penned another note- a very brief one this time.

"Meet me tomorrow, at the park close to my place, seven in the morning."

She tied the note to Athena and gave her an owl treat, apologising to the bird for sending her out so soon after her previous delivery.

"Give this to Ron, and stay at the Burrow," Hermione said as she caressed her feathers. The owl hooted softly and took flight.

Putting the box on her dresser she lay down on the bed and pulled out a book. Some issues needed to be resolved and the sooner she severed all ties the better.


	5. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a ROMIONE and NOT A DRAMIONE.
> 
> If you have read this before, you'll find that this chapter has been rewritten with a number of additions. Big thanks to callieskye for helping me out with this and also for being an excellent beta. Reviews will be highly appreciated.

* * *

 

Ron woke at the crack of dawn as the first rays of the sunlight streamed through the open window of his childhood bedroom. Everything was almost the same, only older. The bright orange of the Chudley Cannons posters had faded over the years, and the previous bed had been replaced to accommodate his much taller frame.

He placed his arms under his head and watched the changing hues of the morning sky. He couldn't remember ever having watched the sunrise when he was a kid; he'd always been a horribly late riser. He chuckled dryly to himself at the word- _always_. The past six years stood in such contrast to the rest of his life that words such as 'always' seemed like a lifetime away.

He hadn't slept well the previous night, nor the one before. In fact, he couldn't recollect even a single instance in a very long time when he had slept peacefully- a time without nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. He reckoned that by now, he should have been used to it; at least he no longer needed to worry about being killed in his sleep, he thought grimly, that was a plus. The past ten days were the most peaceful he'd experienced in a long time, it was just that his brain had forgotten how to relax, he was constantly on alert.

His thoughts drifted to the many nights, he spent under a dirty canvas, wishing for the warmth and security of his home. Now, here he was, yet the horrors he witnessed stayed with him. Ron closed his eyes as if to block the memories but they seemed to have been burnt into his very eyes. The past few years were the darkest of his life, even worse than the year they'd spent on the run hunting Horcruxes. Back in the days of the hunt, at least he'd had his friends watching his back. He'd had Harry and … Hermione.

_Hermione..._

She'd finally sent him a note the previous night- the first one in six long years. The tone of the letter was anything but friendly, sans greeting or even a signature. _But it was something; he'd take anything at this point._

Turning sideways, he picked up the parchment from his nightstand, and ran his fingers over the familiar handwriting. He feared this meeting was going to go worse than their previous one. It didn't escape his notice that she'd asked to meet in a public place. _Had he hurt her so badly that he was no longer welcome in her home?_ Pain ripped his heart at the thought and he reminded himself that, in a way, he deserved this.

 _But, she knew him, didn't she? She knew he'd rather die than hurt her. Why had she bought his lies? Didn't she question his words even once over the years? How couldn't she know, that despite all the distance between them, not a day had gone by when he didn't think of her? She should have known that she always was and would always be the sole reason for his existence. Every time he faced death it was her he saw. She was his reason to keep fighting- to see her again, to hold her again. She knew him best. Didn't she? She was supposed to read through the lines. She should have realised... Why didn't she realise?_ He thought miserably, pulling the pillow over his head and growling into it. _What had he done?_

He reluctantly grabbed at his clock- ten minutes past six, he might as well get up. Pushing himself off the bed, he headed for a shower. Twenty minutes later, he stood in the dark secluded alley behind the park. As he began walking towards his destination, he noticed how busy the place was despite the early hour. It was clear that she'd chosen the place intentionally. The park itself was crowded with early morning joggers and kids riding their bikes. Elderly people occupied the benches lining the pond.

He moved ahead to stand under a large tree near the water. It reminded him of the place he had proposed to her- almost a lifetime ago. Ron found himself wondering if Hermione would notice the similarity, _wondered if she still remembered at all..._ He had of course, noticed that she no longer wore his ring. He din't understand why he still couldn't give up all hope.

She entered through the gates precisely at seven, and he smiled to himself. It was good to see that some things never changed. She'd tied her hair up and the curls bounced enticingly as she walked. Wearing a very plain white top and a pair of basic blue denims she looked much younger, almost like her seventeen year old self. Ron found himself watching her longingly; almost as a vision from his past. He knew though, that the moment she saw him, her expression would change into that of disdain, or worse, indifference.

He saw her come to a stop before she glanced at her watch, and then scanned crowd... He knew she was searching for his telltale hair, and sure enough, the moment she caught his eye, she looked away and her expression hardened.

Once she reached him, she gave him a curt nod before taking a look around. For the briefest of moments, he thought there was something in her eyes, something she was trying to hide- but then the moment was gone, and he was left wondering if it had just been wishful thinking.

"Follow me," she indicated ahead, away from the pond and the tree.

"Sure," he replied softly and followed as she headed towards a small table for two, which had a chess set placed on it. They sat across from each other and Ron couldn't stop himself from looking at her. A few stray locks had freed themselves from the confines of her hair-tie, distracting him as they swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. He barely managed to repress the urge to tuck them behind her ear. Hermione possibly noticed his line of vision; her fingers nervously tucked the curls behind her ear and cleared her throat softly, interrupting his musings.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked finally, realising with regret how strained their interactions had become.

She pressed her lips briefly and nodded, her expression cool. "Yes, I need to return something that's yours."

In response to his surprised gaze she retrieved a familiar wooden box from the bag she had placed on the ground next to her chair. He smiled a little at the sight of the object and looked up at her as she started speaking, very consciously this time.

"Your Mum gave this to me when-" she bit her lip, "-while you were away," she finished. Her words held no emotion. "She wouldn't have, I'm sure, if you had told her-anyway..." she shrugged and handed the box to him. As he took it their fingers brushed and their eyes met almost instinctively, her mask of indifference falling away for the briefest of seconds. But then, she pulled her hand away and quickly averted her eyes.

Ron found her focusing her attention on a toddler and his mother in the distance, her jaw stiff and breathing deeply as if she was preparing herself for something else. He could sense that she was using all her willpower to remain civil; probably hating every minute that she was forced to spend in his presence.

"There is one more thing." she almost whispered still looking away.

Ron placed the box next to the chessboard, his eyes drawn to it while tracing the carvings with his finger. He gave her a curt nod, instinctively knowing what was coming next. He'd realised that whatever farfetched hopes he had about getting her back were about to be crushed. She was here to deal the deathblow. Sure enough, Hermione held another small box in her outstretched hand. Ron looked up marginally, avoiding her gaze. He couldn't let her see his vulnerability; he knew he wasn't ready to watch her impassive face as she ended everything that had existed between them.

She placed the small box on his open palm and he closed his fingers around it. Tears were making his vision blurry and he could barely make out the outlines of the velvet case. _She had chosen the location well,_ he thought bitterly, _breaking his heart in a park full of Muggles._

He got up suddenly and turned away, fisting the box tightly and breathing deeply to prevent tears from escaping.

"I guess I'll leave," she said softly, and he wondered how she might be feeling at the moment. _Vindicated perhaps?_

"I have just one thing to ask from you," he said, still looking away and willing his voice not to crack. She remained silent but didn't move so he continued.

"I haven't told anyone yet, dinna wanna to spoil the excitement of the upcoming wedding. Ya know how Mum and Dad feel about you... and Harry and Gin, o'course... But I'll- I'll tell them after... once all this is over. Just don't let them know now.

You don't have to act friendly or anything. Feel free to hate me. Everyone will just assume you're still mad at me, yeah?" he chuckled drily, "And please don't worry about having to put up with me while you're at the Burrow, either. I'll keep out of your way as much as possible. Just let it be until the wedding is over, _please_?"

She was silent for such a long time that he thought she'd left without replying. But then she spoke, hesitance evident in her words.

"Fine," she muttered softly. "Bye then" she added but he didn't bother to look around. And with that she left. Ron couldn't bring himself to watch her walk away.

...

Her chest hurt.

As she walked away from the park and towards her apartment, she couldn't shake off the seed of guilt that had erupted within her. She reprimanded herself firmly. _Why was she feeling guilty anyway!? She had only returned something which shouldn't have been in her possession for so long in the first place!_

And yet, she couldn't forget the tone of his voice when he asked her not to tell the others. She knew him well enough to know when he was genuinely hurt... She faltered mid-step and admonished herself.

_Why would he be hurt? She didn't break up with him! He broke up with her! Six and a half years ago! Surely this was just acting on his part to make her feel sorry for him. She'd lost her Ron six years ago; she owed nothing to the man in the park._

_But Ron had never been good at hiding his emotions,_ her brain reminded her and her breath hitched, the mask she had been wearing since morning threatened to slip. _A lot can change in six years,_ she reminded herself. She was also easy to read especially for Ron. He knew how to make her mad, how pacify her; how to… break her heart; he knew her too well.

_She was with Draco now. It was all the more necessary that she returned the ring._

A thought she usually kept buried deep in her heart and rarely ever acknowledged resurfaced, but she pushed it away along with the guilt that accompanied it. She shook her head as if to banish the thought. _She was not leading Draco on,_ she reminded herself sternly. Her conscience laughed at her, sounding very much like Ginny.

_Was she really as madly in love with Draco as she had convinced him she was? She'd spent countless nights assuring herself that she had moved on and yet… She wanted to believe that she hated Ron and that he deserved her hate and nothing else. But clinging onto the past would bring nothing but pain. Hadn't she had enough?_

She bit her lip, closing her eyes for a brief moment and took a few deep, steadying breaths. She had done what she was supposed to, she told herself. It had gone as well as she could have expected.

 _Yes,_ _except for the way her heart had twisted at his sight,_ her conscience pointed out.

 _It's hatred, ONLY HATRED!_ she reminded herself, cursing the spiral of self-loathing that was beginning to draw her down. But she wouldn't fall for it, not now when there were more important matters to be taken care of. She had to keep it together for the wedding, _she would stay strong. For Ginny… for Harry._

A decision had been made. She wouldn't question it, especially not with the impending visit to the Burrow.

 _At least he would keep his distance now._ She could keep up the pretence for a while if it ensured the happiness of all the people she loved, couldn't she? After all, it was just a matter of days which would surely pass quickly in the hustle-bustle of the upcoming wedding.

Additionally, she didn't fancy being in the Weasley house when Ron made that particular confession. Facing Molly after the disclosure wasn't something she was exactly looking forward to.

She shook her head to clear it as she entered the lift.

 _She would now get ready and leave for the Burrow,_ she told herself _and she would enjoy the wedding of her two closest friends. Yes, she would do just that,_ she decided firmly.

_..._

Ron stood alone for a long time, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he picked up the wooden box, stuffed the velvet case into his pocket and walked towards the dark secluded alley. Once he was hidden enough in the shadows, he paused for only a heartbeat before Disapparating.

He appeared with a crack in his own London flat, the one he'd bought a few days after his return. It was decently sized and had a couple of bedrooms and a study. It came partially furnished. But most importantly, it was a place that held no memories of Hermione.

He dropped the box on the couch; it fell with a plop and bounced off to drop on the floor. Without bothering to pick it up he dug out the smaller case and opened it. The sight of his ring brought a fresh wave of pain and yet, he found himself picking it up. He didn't know what he was hoping for. She had cut him out of her life and the proof lay in the palm of his hand, but his heart seemed unwilling to accept it. He rolled the small article almost reverently between his long calloused fingertips and turned it till he could read the inscription.

" _Always yours"_

She'd returned it. She didn't want him anymore. _Hermione didn't want him anymore._

Suddenly it was harder to breathe.

_What was he supposed to do? He didn't know how to live without her, how would he survive?_

Even during the past six years of his life, miles away from her, she had been his anchor, his reason to see his mission through, his reason to return. And now she didn't want him...

The metal object, held tightly within his fist, tore into skin and yet, he couldn't let go. She had worn it on her finger, it was the last piece of Hermione he had- would ever have.

_She didn't want him anymore._

He staggered back, watching the front wall unseeingly, feeling utterly lost and empty and collapsed on the floor. Finally opening his palm he embraced the pain the sight of the ring brought. Ron could no longer hold back his tears, his head fell to his knees as sobs wracked his chest, the ring still held tightly in his fist.


	6. Saving a Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta credits to @callieskye. And the most important reminder: THIS IS A ROMIONE . NOT A DRAMIONE

 

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure you were not ordered to open the gate last month, Tinky?" Draco asked the battered old elf, enunciating each word clearly. "Perhaps Thomas needed something? Or Burke Senior asked you to-"

"NO! NO!" squeaked the elf, nodding his large head vigorously while his ears flapped and bulging eyes depicted his absolute mortification.

"Master always staying inside for four days, Sir!" he croaked like a bullfrog. "Master is saying to Tinky to keep the gate locked for those four days every month, and Tinky is doing it that month too. Tinky not opening the gate, Sir!"

"So how did he escape this time?" he asked almost to himself.

Draco was not new to the rules of elf enslavement. Burke Senior had specifically asked Tinky to answer honestly, cutting off the chances of the elf lying to protect his master. There was a possibility that the elf had been hoodwinked to believe he never received instructions to cooperate with the Ministry, but  
Draco's instincts told him that the Burkes wouldn't do such a thing.

Or perhaps it was his own hopeful longing, maybe he saw himself in that boy... although, it was always possible that his instincts were absolutely wrong…

 _Instinct_ , fucking instinct was the reason he was in this godforsaken settlement in the heart of the country in the first place. _Instinct and guilt._

"Are there any other possible exits from the chamber?" he inquired but already knew the answer, he'd checked the heavily padded room himself. Additionally, the Aurors had done a thorough search, the results of which lay in a bunch of scrolls on his desk. _Aurors, fuck..._

"No, Sir! Room only having one door, which Tinky is closing after young Master is going in two days before full moon. Master is coming out only two days after the full moon is going. 'To be safe', Master is always saying," he recited for the tenth time and Draco let out a soft groan of frustration.

The same testimony, not a word different- he had heard it from the crippled father, the old house elf and the broken shell of the boy the Aurors had dragged to Azkaban a few days ago. _Fucking_ _Aurors… he hated those… or one particularly famous Auror to be more specific…_

"Sir?" croaked the elf breaking his musings and Draco straightened up in his chair, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his knuckles.

 _Concentrate,_ he told knew he was missing something but had no clue what it could be.

For the past few days, he had turned the old mansion upside down, searching for signs of foul play. He had ventured into the Muggle village in search of any information they might have missed, but everything led to a dead end.

"Is Sir wanting some tea?" the elf inquired; he shook his head in negative.

"No, thank you, Tinky. You've been very helpful," he replied kindly, smiling at the ancient-looking creature. "I'll be in my room. Please inform me when Burke Senior wakes, will you?"

He did not miss the happy gleam in those large eyes; the house-elves were not used to words like 'thank you' and 'please'. His younger self would have scoffed in disgust. But he wasn't his younger self anymore, someone special had seen to that.

The elf bowed as he left his chair, and Draco walked up the long corridor leading to the staircase; the carpet muffling the sound of his footsteps making the silence of the mansion more pronounced.

Back in his room, he dropped his robe and collapsed into the chair at his desk. Wasting no time, he recorded every bit of information he had collected, which he thought morosely, was barely anything at all, and certainly nothing actually helpful...

Closing his eyes, he leant back. He had nothing to help him defend Thomas Burke; nothing to prove his innocence. And yet, he couldn't forget the vision of the broken man he had seen tied up like an animal in Azkaban a week back. Thomas was a kid, a couple of years younger to him in fact.

His boss had called it a 'Lost case', and if he was honest with himself, that's exactly what it was.

_"This Ministry might be more tolerant towards all magic life forms, Draco, but I highly doubt you'll be able to get a pardon statement for a werewolf attack. And that too, on a Muggle girl, no less. Almost risked the Statute of Secrecy there! No chance I tell you."_

_Draco had to admit, the wizened old man didn't mince words._

_And Hermione had said the same._

_"I am proud you are taking on this case, Draco. You know, I believe everyone should get a fair trial. But this... I mean... I don't how you'll defend this one," she said as she read the case papers again. "It required an intensive memory modification operation on a number of witnesses to cover up the actual reason for the poor girl's death. The jury won't go easy on this," Hermione concluded with a sigh as she pushed aside the stack of evidence that had come in from the Law Enforcement Team._

_His perpetually calm veneer fell and he snapped in reply, "I know that! Tell me something I don't know, something that will help instead, will you?"_

_As he watched shock and hurt flashed in her eyes, guilt overtook his rage. Guilt and fear... He covered the distance between them in two swift strides and captured her hands in his. Damnit, he hadn't meant to yell. He needed to control himself around her... always._

" _I... I'm sorry, Hermione..." he managed, unable to frame a sentence that wouldn't sound like he was begging. But he knew he would beg if it came to that. He knew it was sheer luck that Hermione was in his life, and his luck was rotten in everything else apart from this tiny ray of hope._

_"I am sorry", he muttered, watching her hands in his, gripping hers just a little harder, "It's just that…", he stumbled over his words, "I feel so guilty."_

_"Guilty?" He noted the surprise in her voice._

" _Yes, guilty," he let go of her hands and moved away to stand near the window. The scenery outside was an illusion, just like all the windows in the ministry, and yet, he relished the cool breeze that wafted in._

_"Thomas Burke is a couple of years younger than us, Hermione. Was in Slytherin too. He is an only child, heir to the Burke estate. His mother died during childbirth, his father never remarried. Pureblood, elite family," he scoffed bitterly. "Just the kind who were targeted during his reign to provide followers."_

_He heard her draw in a sharp breath but continued._

_"He wanted Burke Senior to join his ranks, but Burke refused. Not all pureblood families are the same, you know. He wasn't happy. Didn't kill them right away though, where would the fun in that be?" he added bitterly, "Set Bellatrix and Greyback on them instead. By the light of the full moon... Not to kill, mind you, that would have spoiled the fun."_

_He met her eyes, hoping she saw a bit of the darkness that he felt constricting his chest. Just a bit though, Draco feared that Hermione would leave him if she knew the horrors he had been a silent witness to._

_He looked away and continued in an almost emotionless voice, he had learned well how to mask the darkness inside._

_"Bellatrix tortured the father, crippling him for life and then Greyback bit the fourteen-year-old boy as the helpless father watched." Draco could almost see the scene unfold although he wasn't present the day it had happened. One more vision to add to his nightmares; one more horror, to add to the list of hundreds._

_He turned to face her finally, prepared to see repulsion in her eyes. She would see the heartless monster he was destined to become. And then, she would hate him too. He would be destined to live his miserable life alone once again._

_Her eyes brimmed with tears and she bit her quivering lower lip. He wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around her, but he refrained because he knew he was tainted, and she was so pure, he would soil her with his touch..._

_"Why didn't you tell them, the Wizengamot, about the Burkes... during ...your trial?"_

_"I only just found out. I didn't know about them back then. It happened at their home."_

" _Draco," she called softly and took in a deep breath. Maybe she didn't hate him yet. "What if they are lying?" she asked softly and he forced himself to avoid snapping at her again. He knew she was just being her logical self, but her mistrust touched a raw nerve._

" _I saw the memories," he replied as casually as he could manage._

_"Why didn't they come forward after the war?"_

_"Oh, come on Hermione! The boy was turned into a werewolf! Coming out in the open would have guaranteed him a place in a cage or worse!"_

_She nodded grimly and flipped through the thick pad of parchments again._

_"Surely something can be done. He hasn't bitten anyone in seven years. Why did he attack now?" Draco knew she was thinking aloud, but suddenly something clicked._

_"Yes! You are absolutely right!" he beamed._

" _He didn't, did he? But how?" he wondered aloud, "Surely he had been changing all these years! There must be something more, I'll need to speak to the father again and see if I can find out," he grinned._

_There was hope after all; for Burke and for himself._

_At least he had found some answers,_ he reflected. It turned out that the son, with the guidance of his ailing father, had converted a room into a sanctum for himself. He would enter it a day prior to the full moon and stay locked inside until a couple of days after. It had huge silver doors and was locked by their house elf from the outside. The room was further charmed to prevent the sounds of his screams from being heard as he transformed. The precautions had worked for seven years. He was still no closer to discovering how he'd escaped.

Cases like these were the casualties of the evil reign that had marked the three worst years of his life. And even after seven long years, when the memories of horror had slowly begun to fade, some long forgotten pieces of darkness trickled into their lives unexpectedly and made his life a living hell once again. Draco always had a nagging fear that there were more such skeletons lying hidden. No one knew the actual extent of the Dark Lord's network.

He rubbed his strained eyes with the back of his palm. He ached to go back to his flat, ached to see Hermione, to capture her lips with his. This whole case was bringing back memories of his past and he yearned for the normalcy that her presence brought to his life.

He allowed his thoughts to linger on her; he needed that relief.

 _What would she be doing? Surely she'd be at work, she hardly ever took leave._ He wondered if they could both take some days off and go on a short holiday. She needed a break and so did he.

 _Somewhere abroad, perhaps?_ _Some place where no one would recognise them. Hell, he'd go to a Muggle town, if need be. At least they'd be able to spend some time together outside the confines of their offices and flats. Someplace where they could lie on the beach to soak up the sun and walk hand in hand while watching the sunset._

He could easily imagine his life with her; maybe it was the time they came out in the open about their relationship...

Although he hadn't confessed to her yet, he often imagined her walking down the aisle towards him in a bridal gown. _She would make a stunning bride_ , he thought with a longing smile.

He couldn't imagine a great many people at their wedding. _Hopefully, her parents, his mother and some of her friends would attend it?_ In all honesty, he didn't really think many would turn up to be a witness to their wedding vows. Potter was amicable nowadays, but how much he or for that matter, anyone from the Weasleys would support her in this decision was doubtful.

He certainly did not wish to have his Father at the ceremony; the greater the distance between Lucius and Hermione, the better it was for all of them. The old man could still have plenty of evil tricks up his sleeves. As it was, Malfoy Senior was enraged when Draco moved out of the Manor and chose to live in a Muggle neighbourhood. Having a Muggleborn daughter-in-law would do nothing to pacify him. At least, he was under house arrest for the rest of his life. All Draco needed to do was to keep Hermione away from the Manor.

He surveyed his parchment-littered desk with tired eyes. The wild assortment of books, legal documents, and evidence materials looked back at him but he had no clue what could help him save the poor guy from spending a lifetime in Azkaban.

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. _Thomas was a victim for fuck sake!_

And yet, Draco knew the Wizengamot would not pardon him just on the grounds of his unfortunate transformation. He would still be locked away on murder charges. The prosecution would hammer on about how he was a danger to society, Muggle and Magical alike.

He had had an awfully early start to the day, not to mention very little sleep the night before. He rubbed his weary eyes again. _He had to crack this case somehow; he knew very well what it felt like to be forced to be evil, forced to be a murderer._

Realising that his tired brain needed a rest, he picked himself up and went in for a shower. He could do with a nap. Half an hour later, he collapsed on the bed, having forgotten completely about the scroll that the elf had handed him- the letter had been delivered by a tawny owl while he was away in the village the previous evening.

…..

The scene at the Burrow was utter chaos when Harry arrived.

"Ron's missing," Ginny told him, grim fear marking her pretty features. "You don't reckon he left again, do ya?" she asked in a quieter whisper after glancing at her mother.

Molly, Harry noticed, was sitting at the table, dabbing her apron to her eyes. He noticed Hermione bring the Weasley matriarch a steaming cup and pull a chair next to her. She met his eyes but looked away just as quickly.

"Couldn't have," he told his fiancee who he knew was desperately trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"Where's George?" he asked and the man materialised in the centre of the tiny living room almost as if on cue. A moment later, a dishevelled Mr. Weasley walked in through the door and Molly was out of her chair in a flash.

"Did you find him, Arthur?" she asked urgently through her tears, and the old man gave a stiff shake of his head while his wife let out a small wail.

"George?" inquired Ginny and George mirrored his father's action. Molly let out a sob and would have collapsed if Hermione hadn't grabbed the woman right away and gently guided her to a chair, muttering something Harry couldn't hear.

Something wasn't right. Harry watched his curly haired best friend but she didn't meet his eyes, her composure bothered him. Only she seemed to be totally in control, and if he was honest, a tad bit annoyed as well.

_Alright, she could be still pissed at Ron but why so indifferent about his disappearance?_

"He's nowhere on the property, or in the village," provided Arthur with a small sigh as he took a chair next to his wife and placed a hand on her back. Molly sobbed harder.

"He's not on Diagon Alley or in the Leaky," fumed George, "That git, bloody…"

"Did ya check Hogsmeade?" interjected Harry, his brain busy processing further options. He pushed aside the steadily rising panic and forced himself to think like an Auror. Ron was still on leave. He wasn't supposed to be on any missions yet.

"Hogsmeade? Why would he-"

"We gotta check, don't we, Gin?" he interrupted before facing the elderly couple. "I'm sure he just needed to be outside for a bit or something," he said with more conviction than he felt.

"George, could you check around Hogsmeade? I'll cover the Ministry," he added quickly, cutting off Ginny's further arguments. George disappeared with a loud crack, and just before doing the same, he caught Hermione's eyes. It appeared as if she was on the verge of saying something, but then she turned and walked towards the counter to fetch another cup for Arthur. When she made no attempt to talk to him, he Disapparated, his feeling of unease growing stronger by the minute.

He arrived back precisely ten minutes later. George had already returned and was pacing furiously in the small space between the table and the kitchen counter. Harry didn't need to be told that Ron hadn't been found.

"I swear I'll hex him into oblivion once he's back!" barked George and he faintly registered Ginny adding something to it but his brain was working furiously. He glanced at Hermione again; she was obviously avoiding him. _Why?_

"The flat!" he exclaimed suddenly. _Yes, of course! Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?!_

"What?" asked Mr. Weasley but he saw realisation dawn on Ginny and George's faces.

"I'll be back!" he yelled before Disapparating again.

* * *


	7. The Lost Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta credits to @Callieskye! And the reminder that THIS IS A ROMIONE. NOT A DRAMIONE. Please bear with the Draco/Hermione scenes for the sake of the plot.

Ron wasn't sure how much time had elapsed since he'd arrived at the flat- it could have been an hour, or could have been days. The pain had not dulled in the least, but he had run out of tears to shed. The ring had left a mark on his palm; the skin throbbed and burnt but it wasn't as bad as the ache in his heart.

He exhaled and looked at the shiny metal object once more before placing it back in the case and setting it up on the centre table. The sun streaming through the curtains caused it to glitter brilliantly, and he turned away, gulping down the ache in his chest and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It's over," he reminded himself and pushed his exhausted self off the floor almost mechanically. He needed a drink, something strong enough to numb his senses.

Ron was barely in the kitchen, pulling out an old bottle of Firewhiskey, when a loud crack sounded in the living room. He curbed the urge to pull out his wand; so far, only Harry and George could come through the wards. Moreover, at this point, it made no difference to him even if it was some vengeful Death Eater. His life was a mess,  _what was the worst that could happen anyway?_

He heard the furious footsteps getting closer while he unscrewed the bottle.

"YOU BLOODY ARSE, RON WEASLEY! YOU BETTER BE HERE SO THAT I CAN BLAST YOUR BOLLOCKS OFF!"

Harry.

"What's wrong, mate?" he called casually, walking up to the corridor to meet his friend midway, the bottle still held in his hands. In reply, a mighty punch landed square on his face, causing some of the liquid from the bottle to splash out onto the floor.

"Fuck!" he muttered to himself and shook his head before wiping the blood off his nose with the back of his hand.

Harry drew his wand, and Ron mirrored the action on reflex, causing his best mate to shoot him a dirty glare. A swish and a glowing stag erupted out of Harry's wand.

"Found him," said the bloke in an exhausted whisper and Ron swore softly to himself again. "At his flat. Dozed off by the look of it. Will bring him home in a while. Don't worry."

The stag bowed infinitesimally and pranced around the room once before taking a leap and vanishing out of sight.

Ron didn't even flinch when the wand was pointed at his face this time.

"I would've left you with that broken nose if I wasn't so concerned about Molly," gruffed the man angrily before waving it in another practiced motion. "She can do without seeing you bleeding," he added ruefully.

" _Episkey_."

The nose reset itself and Ron gave a nod and a weak attempt at a smile before looking down at the bottle in his hand and taking a large gulp, cherishing the way the liquid inflamed its path downwards. Harry was still watching him, his brow furrowed in annoyance and Ron opened his mouth to attempt a joke, but closed it and walked off to slump down on the chair instead. He took yet another mouthful of the amber liquid and set the bottle roughly on the table.

Harry stormed in and pulling the opposite chair roughly, sat himself down, leaned back and glared while keeping his arms crossed at his chest- typical Auror interrogation mode.

"Speak," he instructed and Ron managed a dry chuckle. He spoke only after taking another swig, a large one this time.

"'bout what?" he asked and noticed his mate's jaws stiffen. He was pushing Harry to the limit but he had no fucks left to give.

"It's a bloody joke for you, isn't it, you git?" spat Harry and Ron continued to stare at the bottle. He was exhausted.

"Harry, listen-"

"No, YOU LISTEN, RON!" Harry bellowed, banging the table with his fist and then drawing deep breaths to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but bitter and laced heavily with checked emotions.

"Do you have the faintest idea the scare you gave everyone? Do you even know what a mess your Mum is right now?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered to himself and met his best mate's eyes, "I'm... I'm sorry... I just... Should've left her a note or somethin'."

He felt worse than he was feeling already, and that was saying something. The least he could do was spare his ageing Mum a panic attack-  _again_.

"I came here to sort out the place. Gotta move out after the wedding, don't I?" he provided though it sounded pretty lame, even to his ears. Sure enough, Harry scoffed.

"Sort this place out?! So fucking early in the morning?! Who do ya think you are? Hermione Granger?"

Her name brought a fresh onslaught of pain, and Ron averted his eyes to take another swig, ignoring the question. He could feel Harry's eyes bore into him.

"I asked you something, didn't I? Answer me, you git! Or would you prefer to have Veritaserum poured down your throat? 'Cause Merlin knows, I'm tired of your games, Ron!"

Ron sighed aloud.

"Not playing any games, mate... Just... Nothing really... How are the wedding preps working out?"

He was dying to tell Harry. It was all too much to handle alone. But he couldn't. The bloke was getting married, for fuck sake. It was supposed to be a happy time for him.

Harry gave him one long, hard look before snatching the bottle and taking a swig himself.

"You don't have any fucking clue how it was for us, do ya?" he asked softly but it wasn't hard to hear the hurt and anger behind those words. Ron kept his eyes glued to the table and Harry continued without waiting for an answer.

"Life was picking up, Ron. I know it was hard, rebuilding from the ruins, the insane amount of funerals and picking up broken pieces wherever we went. But it was better, wasn't it? At least there was some future to look forward to. At least, we were all safe. That's what we fought for, didn't we, Ron? To stop losing the people we loved?"

"Yeah," he managed in a whisper and Harry let out a bitter chuckle.

"..what happened? We lost you- without an explanation, and at a time when  _finally_  we all were supposed to be 'safe'. We had no fucking clue where or how you could disappear from a training camp, Ron! And there were the speculations- that you were kidnapped by some remaining Death Eaters." Harry exhaled soundly, looking like a man way beyond his years.

"I spent weeks looking for you," he said after a while. Ron wasn't surprised but his chest hurt worse now as he imagined his best mate sitting alone in their Auror office, trying to work out his disappearance.

"I was sure someone had taken you. You wouldn't leave unannounced, you'd always come back. But you didn't." Harry took another large gulp. "There was something in the papers a few weeks later. It said that you were captured, presumed dead and that the Ministry was hushing things up-"

"-because I was the Chosen One's best mate, one of the members of the Golden Trio." Ron finished for him. "Yeah, Skeeter wrote that one, the fool," he provided and met Harry's eyes.

"How do'ya know?"

Ron bit his tongue and looked away, conflicted.

"Ron, don't test my patience," whispered Harry in a deadly voice. "I swear, I could've killed you for leaving. Especially after Kingsley finally relented and told us that you were safe and away on some god damn fucking mission! You didn't tell me, you didn't tell Hermione- after I confided in you about Every. Little. Thing. while hunting the Horcruxes! You didn't trust me!"

"I did, mate! I still do! I trust you more than myself, with my life. You know that! But- I couldn't tell you 'bout this." Ron was worried how Harry would take the next confession but he continued anyway.

"That article by Skeeter? It was planted. By Kingsley. We knew she wouldn't be able to resist that bit of gossip and it would somehow sate the curiosity about my sudden disappearance. Bet she made it juicy and nasty, didn't she?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah. Almost pulled out all your old Potion assignments where you'd failed. Exaggerated your weaknesses and downplayed your strengths."

"In short, she made me sound like a bumbling buffoon who stuck around with the two of you only to save his own arse. Someone who got blown to bits the first time he went off on his own?" he laughed.

"Pretty much, yeah." agreed Harry.

"And it worked?"

"Sort of, I guess," he mused. "Made some people question her version but most of them kind of accepted your disappearance as an unfortunate loss and nothing more."

"But you guys didn't believe her, did you?" Ron asked quietly. "That was the plan Harry- we needed to avoid drawing attention to my- to me," he added earnestly. "I knew Skeeter was the best option, 'cause you guys'd never believe a word she wrote."

"You know, at times, I feel like it was a bad joke, the way you treated us, Ron. George kept waiting for you when he married Angie. He'd lost Fred already and he'd lost you too. Your Mum never stopped hoping you'd turn up one day and always ensured she had your meal ready. It was like we were always waiting- waiting for Kingsley to tell us you were safe, dreading some horrible news when he had no information for days. Your Dad had to remove your spoon from the Weasley clock as it was driving the family mental. It would move from lost to mortal peril to dead and back to lost. 'was fucking insane."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. He couldn't take any more of this guilt.

"Wasn't easy for me, Harry, believe me, it wasn't," he managed, gathering the courage to look up into green eyes which held more pain than Ron had ever seen in all their years of friendship. He didn't want to hear any more of what Harry had to say. Reliving his own days of hell was far easier than hearing about the hurt he had caused.

"I… The…" he fumbled, wondering where to start. For six long years, there was hardly any open conversation. He was so out of practice that it was a struggle to put his thoughts into words.

"Dunno know where to begin. Tell me what you wanna know and I promise I'll answer honestly," he said.

"Everything."

He glanced up to meet his best mate's eyes, pleading silently.  _Everything?_  He was still trying to forget, trying to convince himself that some of the memories were nightmares and nothing more.

"Where were you? What was this mission?" inquired Harry and Ron took in a deep breath forcing himself to actually describe in words, the purgatory that was his life for the past seven years.

"And what happened between you and Hermione?"

_Fuck._

"Doesn't look like a lovers' tiff from how I see it," added his best mate. It meant Ron was doing a rotten job of pretending that all was well.

"Hermione-" he began and paused. Even saying her name felt like daggers to his broken heart. "We broke up…" he whispered, "I mean, I broke up with her... before I left."

"WHAT?"

If Ron wasn't so miserable he probably would have laughed. Harry looked flabbergasted. "So, she knew you were leaving?" he asked slowly and Ron shook his head sideways.

"No, would've defeated the purpose."

"So you didn't tell her you were leaving but broke up?"

"I  _had_  to," he replied. "I joined as an undercover agent, mate. I had to leave!" he sighed and looked away before facing his friend again. "What was the point of having a relationship? I had thought over my decision, in case you're wondering, and it seemed pretty darn right. I knew it'd affect my life. At least, I thought I knew how much it'd affect everything. Turns out I was wrong, wasn't I?" he pondered aloud.

Harry didn't comment or question any further and Ron sighed deeply as he began again, the years materialising in front of him like a muggle movie. But it was no movie; it was life- his past.

When did it all begin? Oh yes, sometime in August that year when Harry and he were still under trainee Aurors- the day Kingsley had come down for dinner at the Burrow. His Mum arranged those frequently those days, maybe to keep the house full and noisy or perhaps to keep her grief drowned as she prepared enormous batches of food and fed people. He didn't know if it helped but he attended as and when he could.

That particular night, Kingsley had been able to spare some time from his Ministerial duties. Hermione was visiting her parents and Harry hadn't been around as he was filling in for someone at work. Ron often wondered if it would've made a difference had his best mate made it to dinner that night. Kingsley had told him that Harry would never be a good candidate for the mission, being so well known and all, but Ron wondered if Harry would have allowed Ron to leave if he knew.

 _And Hermione?_  She would've known too. He pushed the memory of her laughter and their happier days together to a far corner of his heart as he continued with his story.

It was that evening when Ron learned of the silent uprising brewing in Belgium. Well, they didn't quite know what it was at the time, did they? No. All they knew at the time , courtesy of one of Kingsley's old sources, was that some escaped Death Eaters had fled to Belgium. It should have been a simple matter of diplomatic reconciliation with the Belgian Ministry of Magic- send some Aurors, track and capture the fleeing bastards, get them a trial and chuck their sorry arses in Azkaban. But it wasn't that easy.

The catch was elsewhere.

There was someone else- someone who had been a close aid of Voldemort's, one who was rallying forces again. The problem was that no one knew who this person was. Also involved were rallying Muggle forces, escaped convicts, thugs and all kinds of lowlifes that thrived on chaos and violence. It made no sense and made the mission infinitely more complicated.

Capture and alert them or lead them into a false sense of security to allow the Aurors to the catch the big fish?

The high seat of Belgium decided on the second option- but losing their lead altogether was too much of a risk to take. What they needed was a spy- someone who would infiltrate the ranks and find out what they were planning, and when the time came, unmask this new leader.

While the Ministry in England was fine combing its employees, screening one and all for links to the Dark regime, the Belgian Ministry was an easy bet. Assuming that their ranks could have been compromised already, they decided they needed someone from foreign soil.

In the end, the offer was simple.  _Would Ron sacrifice all that he had worked hard to build and leave to chase a faceless man?_ Heck, he knew he would. It wasn't really a choice. They didn't need another uprising. Any Death Eater fraternity, if given enough time to grow roots, would target Harry first, and then him, Hermione and their families.

Kingsley gave him two days to decide- two nights to ponder if he was really serious. It would be a highly confidential mission and he could confide in no one- not even his best mates.

He didn't tell Harry how difficult those two days had been for him.

Every time Hermione ran into his arms his resolve seemed to break.  _How could he leave her behind?_  He had sat watching his family- Fred's place left vacant out of respect stood out like an open wound. By the end of the second night, he had made up his mind.  _They couldn't lose anyone else- he couldn't bear to lose anyone else._ It  _had_  to be him. Harry had done it once already- sacrificed himself for everyone he cared. He'd be darned if he allowed his best mate to go through that again. That bloke needed, no  _deserved,_  a life.

_But Hermione was a different story._

She was the one who made it so hard, made him want to be selfish. He had fought a war in the hope that they would have a future together. That night, he lay awake in the small flat Hermione owned, while she slept peacefully, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. And ironically, that's what eventually solidified his resolve.. He'd suffer a thousand sleepless nights to give her a secure future, even if it was one without him. He  _had_  to let her go, and the hard way too...

He realised he had stopped talking, so he left his place to fetch a few more bottles. Once he had placed them roughly on the table, he sat himself down, gulped a fair amount from his bottle before he proceeded with the narration.

Voldemort had amassed an enormous number of followers during his reign; though no one knew exactly how many. Many claimed to be under the Imperius Curse. Even the dark mark had begun to fade in the months that followed the battle. Once he had infiltrated their ranks, it could take him weeks or even months to figure out if he was in the right place at all. And there was always a chance of blowing his cover. That would mean certain death. His older and wiser self now knew that at the very best, it could be an Avada to his heart- quick and easy. At the very worst- well, there are hundreds of less pleasant ways to die, ways his younger self could not have fathomed even in his wildest nightmares.

Chasing the bitter taste of gruesome memories with more whiskey, he began speaking again.

He began his special training within a week after the confirmation and some discrete paperwork. His earnings were to be deposited in a special vault, and in the case of his unfortunate death, it would be transferred to a nominee of his choosing. He remembered having declared three people, his parents of course and Hermione. He handed the Deluminator to Kingsley for safe keeping in his vault. If something went wrong, it was to be handed over to Hermione. Pig was to be passed on to Harry. It had felt strange, signing a will when he had nothing to call his own. But he did hope that he'd return someday, and it would not come to an emotionless ministry official reading out his last will and testament to his grieving family. They would know he had planned it all out, but he would no longer be in a position to explain himself- or apologise.

He met Harry's eyes and looked away quickly, there was too much anger and pain in those familiar features. He focused instead on his story.

Who knew that a Section of Unspeakables worked as and for the Aurors, training them in specific stealth programs? No one was allowed to know. To everyone else, even Harry- Ron's specialisation was combat and strategy.

But he needed more. Eventually, it had been decided that the best cover that he could have would be that of a Muggle outlaw. But that wasn't so easy to implement. Ron's knowledge about Muggle life was woefully limited. And he was already straining his bones trying to maintain his dual life.

It was a rainy afternoon when Kingsley told him that he'd have to leave, disappear more like it. It would give him the scope to train under a retired Muggle military general, one who specialised in covert operations. And it would be easier to hide his tracks if he disappeared long before he made an appearance in Belgium.

He broke up with Hermione that night.

Trying his best not to think about her and just drown himself in more liquor, Ron went on with the story. The bottle in his hand emptied and was refilled by his best mate who, thankfully, seemed to understand the need.

Two weeks later, he 'disappeared' from the training camp. Rita Skeeter's article came out a few days after.

In retrospect, the first eight months of his mission, which he spent learning the muggle ways of life were the easiest, though confusing and and at times tiring. The General took his training very seriously and ensured Ron did too. He was made to live the life of a soldier; patch himself without spells and survive hardships that would have made their year on the run way more tolerable. Many times he wondered how surprised Hermione would be when he finally returned and told her that he could use a toaster now, even a microwave... and guns. No longer would he need his wand in case of physical combat... He also planned to surprise her with his knowledge of French and German which drove him insane initially but were so helpful later on.

He chuckled bitterly and silently to himself as he drank more.  _Fuck, there wasn't enough Firewhiskey in his system to make him pass out or numb his senses._

He continued with his story although already tired of talking.

Nearing a year since he had left home, the recruitment drive of the Death Eaters was slogging on and slowly gaining momentum. One day the Head of the Belgian Auror Department came down with Kingsley. They had been tracking a small muggle group. When the men were found interacting with a runaway wizard, it was deemed prudent to introduce Ron to this group, but they knew he'd need a solid back story first.

Luck favoured, he thought sarcastically. A group of four muggle outlaws, almost his age, had been reported on the run after killing a small time arms trader in downtown London. The group which had managed to evade muggle police, had taken a boat across the channel, only to drown when the vessel capsized. Apparently, they were ferrying more people than their capacity and a sudden unexpected storm spelt doom for all who were travelling. No trace was found, neither of the boat nor any of the travellers.

Three days post the incident (which was luckily reported in the muggle newspapers as well), a haggard Ron was 'caught' trying to steal food from them at a non-descriptive roadside food stall. When they threatened to beat the shit out of him, he told them his sob story- in English- how he was the only survivor of the lot that drowned, how he was in a different country and only trying to get some food. A little more prodding on their part, and he iterated how he was on the run from the cops and would gladly help in any way if they didn't hand him over to the authorities.

Needless to say, they decided that they could use this hapless boy who barely looked out of his teens. And that was that. They were sceptical of him first, talking amongst themselves in German which he pretended not to understand. But he gave them no reason to doubt him, kept a low profile and did their odd bidding as they travelled. One night he told them his 'story' and about the unplanned murder of the cop. After his confession, he was accepted as one of their own.

Ron thought back to the days they spent walking, with no clue where they were actually headed. As the days morphed into weeks, it was hard to even remember why he was there, what he was doing. In the darkness of the night, he'd run his hand over the charmed pocket in his trousers that was extended to hold and hide his wand, if only to remind himself who he truly was. His life had become a perpetual buzz of noise- constantly on the lookout for a chance to use the special invisible mark set on his palm, to press it with his wand and convey his location to Kingsley. But those times were few and far in between as he needed to be continuously on his guard to avoid suspicion. They travelled mostly during the night, sleeping in the woods during the day, keeping away from major towns and villages.

The group still didn't trust him completely, although their defences around him had begun to lower as days passed. They spoke amongst themselves in German while discussing their plans, unaware that Ron could understand... They frequently spoke of a man called Higgins and Ron began to realise that he was one of the dark wizards the Aurors had been tracking all along.

Higgins was sceptical about him initially. But the rest of the group vouched for him. He was just a meek boy who had been with them for months now. An outlaw just like them. How dangerous could he be?

Ron had to admit that he had been worried about being caught. After all, a wizard always left behind some magical traces. He was forced to cease all contact with Kingsley for days at a time. During one such period of silence, the group seemed to finally reach their destination - the Ardennes Forests.

The forest, he realised, was their hideout. He had to admit that it was a damn good choice. The region was covered in extensive forests, rough terrain, rolling hills and ridges. Why would anyone bother to search such a huge expanse of land, and honestly, how would they search the area- without magic?

That was where Ron lived for the next five and a half years, and what left him with a lifetime supply of nightmares. It took him months to adjust, if one could even call it that. After all, it was a life a decent bloke could never be prepared for even with all his training.

The camps were set up deep in the heart of the forest where the foliage was thick and the canopy of trees so high that sun rays barely touched the ground. He had later realised that there were charms in place to keep intruders out- the same ones Hermione had used during the hunt.

The hunt seemed like a lifetime away.

Small shacks were built with woods and twigs and the rain would often leave them soaking to their bones. There were around a hundred or so people when he arrived, and as the months trickled by, their numbers increased. A larger portion of the ground was cleared to make room for their living spaces and yet, Ron could not fathom the need to recruit so many muggles. However, he had to admit these weren't just any muggles. They were outlaws, criminals, murderers, rapists and goons- men running from the law and looking for a place to hide. They had been lured in with the promise of money in return for 'special services'. Something else that Ron noticed common to most was their general fascination for gore and violence. It wasn't hard to understand why a Death Eater would recruit these men; they were just the same- only sans magical abilities.

For almost a month, perhaps more, as he had no real clue of time, he tried to concentrate on staying alive. It was a tricky balance. Keep too much of a low profile and he'd run a risk of being mauled those trying to prove their dominance, show too much valour and risk being murdered for being competition. There were nights when all he wanted was to go home. He had spent more than a year away from everyone he cared for and yet, he still had no clue really why. The days were miserable, the nights sometimes worse than nightmares. He clung on to life not because he had no choice- heck, he could simply Apparate away if he wanted to, but he had left a lot behind for this mission. He had broken Hermione's heart to keep her safe, keep his best mate safe, keep all of them safe, he knew he had to survive this ordeal- finish this-  _for her._

Most importantly, he knew he could not allow himself to die without seeing her one last time if it came to that.

He paused his narration and remained silent, drinking from his bottle for a long time before Harry prodded softly and he resumed.

Finally, when gangs began to form and fights began to break out between rivals, the wizards running the show decided it was time to get the muggles under control and take the plan to the next stage. Two of the men, who had proved themselves to be the gang leaders, amassed followers and were secretly trying to take over, were found dead. It still made him want to puke remembering the scene. It was a clear reminder that they were in that forest, kept safe and fed not for fun and games. They were mere followers, revolts wouldn't be tolerated.

Higgins and another large bloke called Oxley, who Ron was sure, was also a wizard, brought in Peter and Davis. The duo came with a consignment of arms and it was clear to Ron that these new arrivals were brought in to train the lot. What purpose a bunch of armed and trained muggles would fulfil, was still a mystery to him.

He began concentrating on the training. It gave him something to focus on and kept him sane while he tried to discover who was pulling the strings. The arms were confiscated and kept locked away every day after training. Ron often wondered if he felt safer knowing that there were weapons he could use if need be, or sick knowing that others were also planning to grab some ammo and escape.

In the end, he hoped that the wizards in charge were sensible enough to place enough magical wards around the armoury and concentrated on his training. Escape wasn't an option, not for him. The months he had spent with the General didn't go waste and he quickly outshone the others, earning him more enemies than friends.

At this point, Ron exhaled loudly and rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't want to continue and glanced up at his mate hoping Harry would just ask him to stop. But all he received was another bottle of fiery amber liquid. He wanted to carry the horrors he had seen to his grave, but he accepted the whiskey, drank a significant amount of it and continued.

Although fear of Higgins and Oxley kept the masses in check most of the time, the backbreaking training and lack of any real action was beginning to take its toll. The men were becoming restless. Fights began to erupt, this time worse than before as they were now more apt at fighting, and dead bodies would crop up at frequent intervals. And there were other horrors- things Ron couldn't have even imagined, things he wished he had never witnessed, certainly not as a bystander. The frustration was enough to kill him.

_Keep a low profile. Don't blow your cover._

The message from Kingsley was always the same during their rare communications. He'd end up questioning his decision night after night every single time. As an Auror, he had sworn to protect the weak and the helpless and yet, here he was, watching people being mutilated, killed and raped while doing nothing- 'cause he had to fucking ' _keep his cover'_.

_But one evening everything changed..._

Ron wouldn't have realised that he was still speaking at all if he hadn't seen Harry's ashen face. He tried his best to put his emotions aside-  _he had got those bastards,_ he told himself. But he knew it would not assuage his guilt.  _He hadn't been able to save her._

Knowing that, once again, he would spend days and nights drowning himself in guilt and whiskey, he told Harry what he had seen when he had entered that shack. He still remembered the face of each and every bastard who had been there, surrounding her. He remembered the sound of cheers that had erupted at his sight. But worse than that, he remembered those eyes that begged for mercy- the face that reminded him of-

Year-long restraint had finally snapped, and fury, like he had never known before, had engulfed him. It still amazed him how he had not turned into a ball of fire or displayed magic, but somehow he hadn't. He had needed nothing more than his body and unchecked rage to rip those filthy bastards away from her as she had slumped at the end of the filthy rag she had been made to lie on. He had thought he had got everyone off and was about to lift her limp body to safety when he had been attacked from the back- over and over, till he passed out.

He was sure he'd be dead, but he wasn't.

The intense pain that ripped his senses when he woke up in a seedy looking house was proof. He'd always be thankful to Dave for risking his life and taking him to the medicine man at the edge of the forest. How Dave had managed, he hadn't a clue, what mattered was that he was a friend, the only one Ron had in that hellhole.

The memories became fuzzy, strung together in bits from what Dave had told him later on. He had been beaten with a rod till he passed out, but that hadn't been enough for them. He had foiled their game and they had slashed his chest open in retribution. Ron was sure it was only the resilient Weasley blood in him that kept him alive.

The next time he remembered being conscious, Higgins was there- perhaps Oxley too. He wasn't quite sure. What he was certain of- was death. The question was whether to die fighting or to simply give up. But then he had remembered Hermione, and he knew wanted to live- if only to go see her once, tell her that he never stopped loving her, beg her not to hate him.

He didn't know what in his stars helped him that day, but his tryst with death paid off. Higgins seemed eager to welcome him back. And together with Dave they travelled through the forest to a location Ron had been hopelessly trying to locate for weeks. The stitches on his chest opened and bled, and more than once, he thought he wouldn't wake up again. But he always did.

Dave was sent away and he was fed with healing potions. It took him three full days to recover. By the end of the fourth day, all he was left with were the scars that Oxley told him would never fade. He never questioned how he was healed so quickly, only thanked them and inquired why they hadn't left him to die. Higgins grinned at him, in a sickly sort of way, showing off those blackened ugly teeth.

"Ye don let yer valuable weapons go waste, Tony."

Weapons, of course, that's what they were, and lucky for him, he was among the ones that were prized. As he walked out of the tent they told him to rest up and to stay closer to Peter and Davis for his own protection. He remembered having said nothing, other than another mumbled thanks for his life.

Back in the camp, he tracked down Dave first to check if the bloke was safe. And although he knew the answer already, he also inquired about the girl. In all honesty, he didn't expect her to survive and often wondered what he had become to wish that at least she died a quick death.

But those bastards were a different story. They hadn't expected him to return and some of them reacted as if he was a ghost. But he had got to them- each and every one of them.

"Did you kill them?"

He was almost taken by surprise at Harry's words, lost as he was in his monologue.

"No," he replied. "But they were as good as dead. In a place like that even a deep gash can easily get infected and leave you crippled," he replied cryptically. If Harry was expecting any remorse, Ron was sure he had none to spare.  _Was he almost the same as the Death Eaters now? Remorseless about the trail of dead bodies left in his past?_  He set that thought aside to be pondered during the long sleepless nights that were a part of his life now.

Ron barely had the strength to go on. He wanted to drink till he could think no more, and then simply crash, for days, if possible. He eyed the bottle in his hand, hating the amount of alcohol he could easily ingest nowadays.

He took a deep breath and began again; he knew Harry wouldn't leave him alone till he had heard the rest. But he left out a lot, like the hundreds of little fights that ensued after his show of violence or the multiple injuries he sustained. All that he had learnt during his training came handy, and he patched himself up while the others were not so lucky. He didn't mention that, after a while, he learnt to relish the fights, learnt how to pour out his frustration on these men, telling himself he was doing his job, chipping away pieces of the enemy's army- one man at a time. He didn't tell Harry about Dave's death, just drank more, skipping quickly to the portion towards the end. He did, however, mention how that this new violent streak made him famous with the wizards as well as the the trainers, and how he slowly but over the years, assumed the position of a leader of sorts in this muggle army they were building. When Ron realised that the effect of alcohol was slowly beginning to kick in, he hurried with his narration.

Berthold Casimir.

The man they had been hunting for years- the wizard who had stolen six solid years from his life.

Casimir reminded him slightly of Snape, silent and deadly. He moved with an aura that spoke of a wizard of power and a deadly passion for revenge- traits that would have appealed to Voldemort. He was called, one particularly hot, stuffy night to the same tent where he had been healed once. It was there that he received his brief: the day they were all preparing for had arrived- the day to avenge the Master.

Casimir never mentioned Voldemort, not even as the Dark Lord. But the plan said it all. Over the course of the next week, the men were to infiltrate England, they would travel in smaller groups to specified locations. Finally, on the 2nd of May, exactly at sunrise, they would trigger mass attacks in these small, non-descriptive towns. They were to break down doors, kill one and all, eradicate the population- none were to be spared, not even women or children. In return, they could collect any 'loot' they desired, money and gold, or even people if they so desired as long as they disposed of them later. Upon completion, they were to move quietly to the neighbouring towns, leaving their weapons behind, pretending to be survivors from the terror struck settlements. In another week's time, they would be ferried off to France.

It wasn't hard for Ron to finally connect the dots. They had planned it all perfectly. It had been years, and the wizarding world, he was sure, would have slowly forgotten the terrors of the past and blended in with the mundane regularity of life. Gone would be the intense protective spells and wards, or sense of constant vigilance. The locations listed were predominantly wizard settlements which meant that there would be few who would actually know or expect an attack by muggles- or know how to deal with bombs and guns. And most importantly, with such a widespread and synchronized attack, the Ministry wouldn't have enough men to deal with the catastrophe.

And these men they had been preparing all these years? These men were mere pawns. Ron was sure there would be no boats waiting to carry them to France. The wizards were expecting them to be killed, and honestly, even if some of them survived, there was no way the Aurors or the muggle cops would be able to track them back to the Death Eaters.

The entire force was called and divided into groups, and men were assigned to lead them. Ron was assigned to a group that would raid Hogsmeade. With the 2nd of May merely ten days away, and all preparations in place, booze and food flowed in the camp in celebration. He left the camp in the dead of the night, ran through the forest, his legs carrying him as far from the campsite as possible, far away from the tents where the wizards stayed. When he was sure he had put miles between them, he took out his wand, and send a high priority message to Kingsley. The response came within minutes.

_Could he go back and mark the range of the camp?_

Ron was sure it would trigger some sort of an alarm if any magic was performed there.

' _Yes,' he messaged back._

"I owed Higgins for saving my life," he told Harry.

"So you spared him?"

"Sort of. I went back, called Higgins away, stunned him, and used his wand to cast the tracking spell. And I had to cast anti-Apparation wards around the wizards' tent," he told his best mate.

The Aurors Apparated in at dawn, the quiet surroundings burst with sounds of loud cracks echoing off the mountains. The muggles were locked in, most of them still sloshed from the heavy drinking games the previous night. The wizards though, they put up a fight. They didn't last very long, surrounded as they were by so many Aurors. But Ron still remembered the deep loathing and fury in Casimir's eyes as they duelled. He truly wanted to believe it was self-defense that made him cast that last spell, but if he was honest with himself, he could remember the intense hatred and fury that caused him to cast the Unforgivable. As an Auror, it was always a priority to take them alive, give them a fair chance for a trial. But Ron had seen enough to know, some men didn't deserve a second chance. They deserved nothing less than death for planning to eradicate a whole race. Higgins was the only one who was taken alive that day.

He returned home a month later- once a million formalities were cleared and he was deemed medically fit. He thought quietly about the many scars that were a part of his skin now, slowly blending in with his pale complexion and he thought of the one that marked his chest, the one he couldn't hide without magic.

He ran his fingers through his hair, resting his back against the chair, and Harry stared at him for a long time- those emerald green orbs boring into him. He attempted a smile but his tired muscles refused to cooperate.

"Why did you break up with Hermione?"

Ron wasn't expecting this question, not after the story he'd just told and not from Harry at least.

"Come on, mate!" he responded, his voice slurring slightly. "Even with the training and all that shite, it was fairly possible that I'd have blown my cover! And then? They'd have killed me for sure, wouldn't they? And you know Her… her…" he paused, finding it hard to continue, wishing for the briefest moments that he had died sometime after he completed the mission. It would surely have hurt less. "She'd've kept waiting, would've stopped living…" he added in a small voice. "It was for the best. She'd hurt less this way."

Harry snorted.

"I- I thought, I'd explain once I returned…"

"And you didn't think she'd move on?"

"I wouldn't have come back if she did, move on that is, I mean," he added with difficulty. "But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" he chuckled bitterly. "She hates me and won't even listen. Doesn't want me anymore..."

With his eyes turning heavy, he placed his arms on the table and watched his best mate taking copious gulps of Firewhiskey. He had almost fallen into a blissful state of forgetfulness when Harry's words floated towards him.

"What did the girl look like, Ron? The one in the tent?"

He replied with sleep muffling his words. "She had curly brown hair and big, brown, almond shaped eyes."


	8. Pretenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a BIG thanks to my fab beta callieskye. She makes this so much better.   
> Also, this is a ROMIONE and NOT a DRAMIONE no matter how it seems at this point.

 

* * *

Harry drank deeply from the mug while he stood at the tiny balcony attached to the kitchen. His head was splitting into two, but not, he realised, because of the Firewhiskey he had consumed earlier. The rare sunny day in London was strikingly in contrast to their lives- yes,  _their_  lives, he decided. It might have been years, but his world was still entwined with the two idiots he called his best friends.

He turned his head to catch a glimpse of the bigger moron- the bloke was still passed out. As much as he knew Ron needed to go home, Harry couldn't bring himself to wake him. Merlin knew how many nights Ron would have spent without a decent sleep, carrying the heavy burden alone in his heart. He glanced at his dented watch that once belonged to Fabian Weasley. They should have returned to the Burrow ages ago.

 _Another few minutes,_ he decided, looking fondly at his best friend before he drank heavily from the mug again.  _Fuck the coffee, he needed some alcohol._

Resting his back against the wall, he tried unsuccessfully to erase the vivid images from his memory. If a mere recounting could leave him this restless, he wondered how Ron had survived the ordeal all alone.  _Was he surprised?_ Perhaps on a deep instinctive level, not so much. What else could you expect from a guy who had willingly sacrificed himself at the age of eleven? A guy who dared challenge a suspected mass murderer to kill him while he stood on a broken leg at fourteen? No, Ron had been always the same. Only his idea of self-sacrifice had grown with him, to take dangerous proportions.

As the sun hid behind the floaty, wispy clouds, Harry found himself wondering about the fate of their friendship. Not Ron and his; the bloke was practically his brother. Hermione, though a little more aloof now than before, would still always be as close as a family for him. But his fears back from their sixth year had come true, as a trio they were no longer as close as they once were. From what Ron had told him, Hermione had refused to hear him out. He couldn't exactly blame her, but at the same time, he couldn't find fault in Ron's judgement. He'd have done the exact same.

For almost seven long years, both Ron and Hermione had lived in purgatory. It all made sense now- Ron's silence and Hermione's absence from the Weasley family home since the day he returned. Harry forced away the urge to call her- tell her what a mess Ron was, explain the reasons. He scoffed bitterly to himself; Hermione wouldn't be that easy to placate, and for good reason. Despite his good intentions, Ron had hurt her way too much this time.

He took another deep gulp from the bitter, sugar and milkless concoction.  _Why had she never told him?_ He considered her a sister; their shared grief should have brought them together. But just like during the Hunt, Ron's absence had left them without the link that tied them. They had been at a loss for words, choosing instead, to grieve alone. He briefly remembered the night when Hermione had found him in Molly's kitchen after Ron's disappearance. Harry had spent many nights wondering if he ought to have stayed and spoken to her- if he should have apologised for not bringing Ron back. But he had been a coward, unable to face her- even for an apology.

Ron stirred in the background, muttering incomprehensibly in his sleep, and Harry was forced out of his musings. He walked briskly to the table and dropped his mug before abruptly Disapparating. He was back soon enough. This time he prepared another cup, choosing to increase the amount of coffee powder in the brew. Approaching the sleeping man, he placed the cup in front of him.

"Mate, wake up," he called, shaking Ron softly by the shoulder. He had to say his name a couple more times before Ron stirred, squinting up at him.

"Bloody 'ell, Harry, shut the blinds," he replied, groggy. "My head's killing me," he added, grabbing a fistful of his short-cropped hair.

Harry flicked his wand, the door to the balcony closed with a loud bang and the blinds rolled down, shrouding the room in diffused light.

Harry pulled out the vial of Hangover potion from his pocket, pouring all of it in Ron's cup. "Drink it," he instructed. "Don't want your Mum to see you this way."

Ron took a sip, grimaced at the foul taste before gulping it down at one go and wiped his lips with the back of his palm.

"We've gotta go back, don't we?" he inquired helplessly, and Harry nodded grimly.

"Mate-" he began but paused.  _Fuck! How was he suppose to tell Ron that Hermione was at the Burrow already?!_

"Don't tell Ginny," Ron declared, standing up and running his fingers through his hair. "Just- just don't tell anyone right now."

Harry assumed Ron was trying his best to keep his game face on. Deciding that the bloke deserved a fair warning, he spoke carefully. "She's there already, Ron."

For one brief minute, Ron looked at him in utter shock and almost expected him to refuse to go. Perhaps that's what Harry would have done. It would certainly be the easier option. But even as he watched, Ron managed to get a grip on his emotions. His face turned impassive, the only sign of his distress evident in the way his fist tightened around the back of his chair, rendering his knuckles white.

"Okay," he breathed at last and walked off to the sink with two mugs. Harry watched him wash and dry them the muggle way and wipe his hands on his jeans before he joined Harry at the table again.

"You okay?" he found himself asking, and Ron let out a smile that looked way too forced and bitter. His eyes remained devoid of emotions though.

"Got no other option, have I?"

Harry wanted to say it would be fine, that Hermione would come around but he decided Ron could do without false assurances. Also, the least he could do for him was avoid mentioning her name. The two of them walked out of the kitchen and into the living space. It was only then that Harry saw the small box on the table and the glittering ring held in it. He turned instinctively to his best mate only to notice Ron had caught him watching and was now looking at the object too. For a brief minute, the pain hidden inside seemed to surface on his features, but then he walked ahead briskly and picked it up. Snapping the lid shut, Ron pushed the case deep into his pocket and faltered for a second. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke.

"Do me a favour, Harry. Get me out of the Burrow as soon as you can."

"I will, mate," he responded sadly.

Hermione found herself looking out of the window from Ginny's room yet again and forced herself to turn around. She pushed away the anxiety that had gripped her and tried to concentrate on the bubbly witch sitting amidst a clutter of boxes and dresses spread over two beds.

Ginny was carefully placing Hermione's necklace back in its case. "I'm relieved this lot is done," she exclaimed, flashing a smile.

"Let's get these in order before your Mum has a heart attack," Hermione suggested and flicked her wand. The dresses folded themselves and arranged into a neat heap. The jewellery, shoes and other items all took their places in their respective boxes and cases. With a huge sigh, Ginny collapsed onto her now empty bed and Hermione laid down opposite her.

"Thanks!" Ginny sighed happily before sobering up a little."It'll take more than a messy room for Mum to get a heart attack these days. Ron has seen to that, " she added bitterly.

That was one name Hermione didn't want to hear right now; she managed a nod. She found herself glancing once more at the window before she composed herself and picked up the dresses from the bed just to have something to do.

"Nevertheless, we should store these properly," she declared, flicking the wardrobe open with her wand and busying herself with setting them in.

"Hermione?" Ginny called from behind.

"Hmm?"

"Are you guys- I meant- did you talk to him?"

Hermione was glad Ginny couldn't see her face. She wasn't happy with the turmoil in her heart that intensified at the mere mention of him.

"Yes."

"And-?"

Hermione ensured she was well hidden behind the open door of the wardrobe before she spoke.

"Don't worry," she said and paused, wondering how much she could say, "you won't have a mop as your groom's best man." She tried keeping her tone light and jovial, not sure if Ginny would buy it.

"So, you're okay with the stunt he pulled?" Ginny asked again.

She had expected this unwanted topic to crop up a hundred times, if not more during her stay, but knowing that didn't make going through it any easier. She hated herself for her weakness.

"We had a chat," she said carefully, "we decided it would be best to keep it peaceful."

"You know I fully support you, right?" Ginny's tone was sincere, Hermione turned around and managed a smile, knowing well that Ginny could see through it.

"Thanks, Gin," she replied and walked towards the bed. However, her eyes were unwillingly drawn outside the window, towards the boundary of the house. Anyone visiting the Burrow would have to Apparate there unless they were Flooing in, of course.

It had been a strange morning. She had arrived minutes after her meeting with Ron. She had not lingered around her house; Ron wasn't supposed to know that he had managed to get under her skin. She wanted to prove to him (and on some level, herself too) that she couldn't care less about seeing him again only minutes after their 'meeting'.

Molly had been her usual self, greeting her with open arms and food. Ginny had been ecstatic. And despite her reluctance to visit the Burrow, Hermione was soaking in the warmth of the place that was practically a second home for her. That was until Molly went upstairs to wake Ron... She had steadied herself, pulling up all her defences against him. But instead of Ron, a highly distressed Molly had come running down the stairs. Ron wasn't home.

She had expected him to turn up soon.  _Perhaps he had just lingered at the park?_  She had forcefully stopped herself from wondering about the implications of his absence, even annoyed at the stunt. But when minutes turned into an hour and Harry and George both returned without him, she began to worry despite herself. She contemplated telling the others about her meeting him, but that confession would only trigger more questions. Questions she wasn't yet ready to face.

The message from Harry's Patronus had caused Molly to break down, tears of relief running down her cheeks. Ron had had the audacity to pull the same stunt again. It had been hard to control her anger, but the worst part was the realisation that she still cared enough to have been insanely anxious. Ron had no right to cause her so much pain- not again, not after everything he had done.

"It's been a while. Why isn't Harry back yet?"

Hermione didn't voice aloud that she had been wondering the same. "Don't worry, they'll be home," she responded. As if on cue, two loud cracks echoed outside and the girls rushed to the window.

"That prat!" fumed Ginny and dashed out of the door.

Hermione, however, stood rooted to the spot.

_Her boys were back._

The sight of the two familiar figures walking side by side brought back an onslaught of memories. She grabbed hold of the window pane to stay standing. Hidden behind the curtains, she found herself watching the tall red-haired man. It had been years and yet, that gait was still as familiar as ever- the way he looked at Harry with a sideward glance, the way his lips moved to mutter words she couldn't hear, the way he looked around, the way those brows furrowed and his hand moved instinctively towards the wand in his right pocket before he relaxed and smiled…. Hermione closed her eye, turning away from the window and stood leaning against the wall.

His voice from hours ago was still fresh as ever.  _Ron was hurting._

 _Don't,_  she begged herself,  _please don't…_

Concentrating on her breathing, she forced herself to think back on the day her world had crashed down around her. She focused on the memory that she kept locked in the deepest corner of her heart and allowed the anger and hurt to claim her. All these years, she had held on by sheer will, by allowing the anger to fester and grow. It was a dangerous move, but she knew she could never do away with his memories- they were inexplicably entwined with her very being. Without the anger, all she had left was the unbearable pain, a gift from the one person she'd trusted and loved beyond all. The fury at least allowed her to keep herself sane, allowed her to live without his memories haunting her every second of her life.

She heard the door open and the loud cry from Molly followed by muffled words. She had to go out and see him now, she had no choice. But, she would not - _could not_ allow him to see her weaker side.

… _.._

Four pairs of eyes found her as she exited the room onto the staircase. Hermione felt Molly and Ginny watching her apprehensively but her eyes unwittingly sought and found the blue ones. She grabbed onto the railing, hoping earnestly that her face was not betraying the turmoil within.

Ron's face was impassive; no indication that they had met earlier in the day, nothing to show what had happened that morning, no trace left of all they had been through.

"Hey there," he said politely.

"Hi, Ron," she replied, wondering if there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes at the sound of his name from her.

"How are you?" he asked, keeping up the pretence.

"Good, and you?" she replied. She hadn't taken a step forward; she was still standing at the head of the stairs. He hadn't moved towards her an inch either. The two women, she figured, were still watching them. The very air was stiffening and Hermione wondered, how on earth she expected to survive under the same roof as him.

"Erm... if you guys are done, could we get a bite? Ron and I missed breakfast," quipped Harry, in an obvious attempt to move the attention away from Ron and Hermione. Hermione was glad when the tactic worked and Molly ushered them into the kitchen. Plates and cutlery flew out of the rack and soon, heavily laden trays floated towards the table between them. She finally managed to descend down the staircase and took a seat to Ginny's right. Ron sat on the other side, next to Harry who sat opposite to Ginny but to Harry's right, deftly avoiding a scenario where they were face to face.

"So where have you been all morning?" Ginny asked. With her arms folded at her chest, she cut quite an intimidating figure.

Hermione watched how little Ron was eating. She had seen him more times with food than she cared to count, but the man who sat at the table was no long the zealous boy who loved to eat. In fact, he looked like he would have prefered to be anywhere but here.

"Woke up very early," he replied, addressing his mother instead. "Thought, it'd make sense to sort the flat out a bit, but y'know I suck at household spells. Had to do it the muggle way. Dozed off at some point till Harry arrived and woke me up," he added, looking at his plate instead of his Mum.

Hermione found herself wondering how much of his story was true. Here, she'd been berating herself for their secret confrontation, fighting her memories and emotions they'd brought with them. But all this time, Ron had moved on with life just as he had done before. Their meeting hadn't affected him in the least. She looked away from him sharply, staring ahead, but not actually seeing anything in particular, searching for a way to escape. She turned towards Harry as he cleared his throat.

"We were wondering...y'know, if you'd be okay with Ron staying at Grimmauld Place with me till the wedding?"

Hermione wasn't new to the silent conversations that happened between the boys. She could see it was preplanned. She wondered how much Harry knew, wondered if Ron had confided in him. He most likely had.

"Why?" asked Molly, while Ginny glanced at her once.

"Please, Mum?"

Her deduction was right- it was indeed preplanned. He was keeping his promise of staying out of her way. For the next few minutes, Molly tried unsuccessfully to coax the boys into staying at the Burrow instead but relented to their wish eventually.

"I hope you guys aren't leaving right now, are you?" inquired Ginny, "Harry, you and I still need to get our Apparition permits for Italy."

Harry gave Ron an apologetic look that Hermione didn't miss. She assumed Ginny saw it too.

"I guess I'll go back to my flat and finish the work then," added Ron. He really was itching to get out of the house, and away from her. _What else was she expecting anyway?_

"Take Hermione along, she'll do it in a snap," suggested Molly goodnaturedly, looking between them eagerly. Hermione could have cursed aloud in her helplessness. She caught Ron's eyes for a second before they both looked away.

"Or I could catch a nap in my room," he said faking a yawn, "I'll probably end up falling asleep again."

"Yeah, you should catch up on your sleep first," she suggested quickly. Thankfully, Ginny ushered Harry away as they were getting late, and Ron too left for his room soon after.

...

Later in the day, Hermione stood outside, admiring the hedge she had created around the house. It was almost dusk, and she wondered how long Ginny and Harry would take to return. It would have made sense to bring some of her paperwork, but she hadn't expected to be stuck in the house alone with Ron. Well, that wasn't completely true, Molly was at home, cooking up a scrumptious dinner for the family. But Ron was there too, not in the kitchen, but up in his room, the very place where she had spent uncountable days- and even a fair share of her nights...She grumbled under her breath, cursing her head for bringing the deep buried memories to the fore. She was stronger than this, she told herself. She hadn't pulled herself out of the depths only to sink back in just by his mere presence. She really couldn't afford to be weak-  _not now, not ever._

Deciding that she could distract herself by helping Molly, she pushed the kitchen door open, the delicious smell of food bombarding her senses immediately.

"I was just about to call you, dear," said Molly, as she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. "Get Ron and set the table outside, will you? Andromeda and Teddy are arriving shortly. It will be a little too cramped to eat in here."

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably. "Why wake him up? I can do it myself. Let him sleep," she suggested, hoping desperately that Molly would let it rest.

"Hush! He's been sleeping for hours already!" she countered. As her rotten luck would have it, footsteps echoed from the stairs and soon, a messy-haired Ron appeared. Hermione cursed at the way her heart leapt at the sight and looked away abruptly.

"Here you are! Help Hermione set the table outside," instructed Molly. Hermione found herself hoping fervently for Ron to protest, but his face was just as impassive as before as he descended the stairs.

"Right, Mum," he said, briskly crossing her and pushing the door open. He gave her a polite but formal smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I could have done this alone," she hissed as Molly turned away from them and into the pantry.

"I know," he replied quietly. He did sound genuine and Hermione couldn't figure out why it made her angrier.

"I'll take the table, you bring the chairs," she said and he agreed wordlessly.

Soon a canopy had been created outside, lanterns hung from it, casting a soft glow on the table beneath. Ron worked quietly, setting the plates while she arranged the cutlery. Once again, Hermione found herself watching him, no matter how much she admonished herself, her resolve had weakened by his mere presence and on some level, he had managed to perk her curiosity. She had never seen him like this. Even during their big fights in school, when they stopped talking for months, Ron's features had said it all- whether it was anger, hurt or guilt. But this Ron seemed to be someone else altogether. He looked as if he felt nothing, as if he couldn't even feel her eyes on him. He kept his eyes glued to the table where plates and goblets were taking their place under instruction from his wand. She increased her pace, arranging the knives and forks at double speed; she needed to get away from him. However, Ron was first to wrap up his share of the work.

She watched as he paused, perhaps on the brink of saying something, but then he met her eyes for a brief minute, nodded a little and walked away towards the orchard. She stood there, under the creamy white canopy and the soft light from the lanterns, wondering why she wasn't as relieved as she ought to be about Ron actually keeping his promise.

* * *

A/n: Thanks for reading! and please do review! Thanks!


	9. Conflicting Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First things first, THIS STORY IS A ROMIONE and NOT A DRAMIONE.
> 
> As always, big thanks to callieskye for her fantastic beta work. This chapter now has an extra 1K words of R/Hr which I sincerely hope you'll enjoy (while you cry ... Oops!).

 

* * *

 

 

 

 The soft glow of the lanterns, the cold breeze which held the hint of impending rain, and the silence of the night blending in with the aroma of Molly's cooking wafting through the open window could easily be the reason why Hermione was suddenly transported back in time to when her life was different, when  _she_ was a different Hermione. Or,  _maybe_  the surroundings had nothing to do with her misery at all. Perhaps the person who had walked away a while ago, without even a backward glance, was the reason.

She looked around the familiar backyard and it brought back a hundred bittersweet memories. Hermione might not have had a proper, carefree childhood, but at least, back then, her heart was still whole. Now there was a space in her chest that felt hollow. On days when she allowed herself to think of the past, she often wondered if she would ever feel whole again. This pain, the void in her life - all of it was Ron's fault.

Unfortunately, it was one of those nights again.

She stood at the table, her wand held loosely in her hand, not even aware anymore of the task she had to complete. After a while, she walked ahead and sat down on the stairs just outside the door to the kitchen.

The light breeze turned into a chilly gust bringing droplets of rain with it. The canopy fluttered and the hanging lanterns swayed in tune to create mesmerizing visuals of light and shadow. Hermione instinctively glanced ahead towards the trees where Ron had disappeared. Pulling her knees close to her body, she rested her forearms on them and tucked her head in. Unbidden, the tears she'd been fighting pooled and spilled over.

She was struck with a mélange of memories- the ones she struggled every day to shield her heart from. But her will had always lost to Ron, her resolve always faltered when faced with her love for him. She bit her lip and swallowed the sob back but more tears cascaded down, soaking the sleeve of her jumper. There was too much of his presence around, how was her heart suppose to fight this battle and win?

The past was supposed to be dead and gone, buried deep beneath the long years she had spent without him. And yet, here she was, outside his family home, her heart breaking while he had not even bothered to look back. All it took was the faint, yet familiar fragrance of his to blow away the years of dust; the wounds underneath were still raw and bleeding. Who was she fooling? She could never get over him. This was where she belonged. She sniffed and bit down her lips to hide the whimper that threatened to escape. Ron was breaking her all over again.

_How could he hurt her this way? Who gave him the right?_

She wiped the tears away indignantly but her eyes pooled again, almost immediately.  _Hadn't he already taken everything she thought was hers?_ She wiped her eyes once more to see the crooked building a little better. After Voldemort's appearance at the Ministry back in their fifth year, her parents had been sent into hiding by Dumbledore for their own safety. This very place had become her second home. Molly and Arthur had loved her as a daughter and never made her feel any different from Ginny.  _How could Ron take away not just her dreams but also her home and the people she had grown to love as parents? This was her family too._ She buried her head in her hands and sobbed, trying her best to muffle the sounds. She had everything one could ask for, a home, a job and even a boyfriend- but underneath it all, she was living a facade. Her whole life was nothing more than an act. She was pretending to be in love, to be happy, to be over Ron- even to herself…

"Hermione!" called Molly, and she quickly wiped her face on the sleeve and cleared her throat.

"Coming!" she replied hoping that her voice didn't sound shaky.

She took a few minutes to steady her breathing and wiped her face again. Finally, she pushed herself off the steps, dusted the back of her jeans off and turned around, never noticing the shadow of the man hidden in the trees.

…

He had walked away from her.

At least his feet had the sense to carry him far from the place where her fragrance lingered in the air around him. His heart pulled him back, urged him to turn around to catch j _ust one_ glimpse, but he didn't give in. No pain in the world could be greater than what he was living- to have her next to him and yet be so terribly far. Ron moved ahead, forcing himself to take one step at a time, increasing the distance between them till he was surrounded by the trees and hidden among them.

He had felt her eyes on him, searching and wondering, but he didn't have the right to look at her anymore, did he? No. He wasn't sure how he'd manage to hide his longing and pain if he met those eyes. But the truth was, Hermione didn't want any of it. Hermione didn't want him.

He decided his heart was safer with space between them and took a few more steps. But at the same time, he was utterly miserable without her.  _Had it been only a handful of hours since he'd met her at the park? It felt like ages._ Before today, he'd been able to cling to the faint hope she'd take him back. Now there was nothing but a hopeless void. The morning seemed a lifetime away, and his life ahead- a long, unending night.  _How was he supposed to live with this regret?_  He almost wished he'd died when there was still hope.

Ron paused next to a huge tree and placed his hand on its ragged trunk and eventually turning to rest his back against the wood. There was simply no strength left in him to go on. His vision clouded with unshed tears which he tried unsuccessfully to keep in check.

 _Just one glance,_ he begged himself and found a gap among the trees through which he could see. Hidden in the shadows, he watched the girl who now sat on the steps, her knees pulled in close. His body shook with the effort of keeping his sobs in check. Ron reckoned it'd been awhile since he'd felt so helpless and weak.

In two days she'd go back to her life and he might never see her again.  _How would he go on with his life without her, knowing that she didn't want him anymore?_ The wind intensified and rainwater trickled down the leaves to soak him. And yet he stayed put- watching the girl sitting on the steps. Her thick ponytail hid her face, and the glow from the lanterns doused her with light and darkness in turn as they swayed in the wind. A hundred steps was perhaps all that separated them. He could easily cover that distance in a heartbeat to kneel in front of her, beg her forgiveness. But in reality, what separated them was a lifetime of regrets, a distance so vast that he could not cross nor do anything to make up for it. So, he waited instead, and watched her, hidden in the trees holding onto every second that he had with her in front of him.  _Who knew if he would ever have a moment like this again?_  He watched as she responded to his Mum's call and wiped her face on her sleeve. _Hermione was supposed to be happy. Didn't he trade his entire life for her safety and happiness?_  He knew he'd walk away forever if that ensured her some peace.  _Perhaps he was hurting her with his presence?_  His feet automatically took him a few steps back. If Hermione was better without him around, he'd stay far away from her- no matter how much it hurt.

Hermione got up and turned around, Ron turned as well. Ignoring the thunder and intensifying rain, he walked deeper into the trees, far away from where his heart lay.

…

Later that night, once the unbearably merry dinner was over, Hermione was the first to excuse herself. It had been a long day, and she ached to get away from Ron. It didn't matter that he had arrived at the table late and drenched to the core. He had shrugged away from Molly's questions stating that he was only enjoying the rain. Hermione had kept herself busy, passing dishes and making small talk with the other Weasleys, anything she could possibly do to avoid hearing his voice. It got worse as the night progressed with everyone asking him about his plans and she finally made her apologies to Molly and said she was going to retire for the night. Hermione heard the conversation mellowed as she left her chair and turned away, she knew many pairs of eyes were following her. She turned around just once to wish everyone a goodnight and unbeknownst her eyes found  _him._ He hadn't bothered to look up; he was busy drinking from his bottle of butterbeer.

She turned away before the angry tears made an appearance.

Hermione was quick to ascend the stairs and stopped only after she reached Ginny's bedroom and shut the door behind her. She stood close to the frame, one hand resting on the wood and groaned helplessly. Her chest felt constricted, like she couldn't breathe and was drowning.

"Why?!" she spat angrily at the vacant room and hastily brushed away the tears. "I hate you!" she mumbled before her voice cracked. "I hate you, Ron," she cried and crashed onto the bed face down. She was not supposed to break down, she told herself weakly, she was supposed to show him that she didn't care, was supposed to show him how happy she was without him! Sobbing into her pillow, she craved to get away although she wasn't quite sure why a stronger part of her seemed to have anchored itself within the Burrow. She couldn't leave but she couldn't stay either.

As footsteps echoed outside, she pulled off her shoes and curled herself in, facing the wall. With any luck, Ginny would assume she was already asleep..

Sure enough, a gentle tap sounded before the door open with a soft creak. She could make out the faint glow of the lamp outside fall near the foot of her bed.

"Hermione?"

She closed her eyes, careful to make no noise and hoped her breathing was in steady rhythm.

"Looks like she dozed off," Ginny whispered to someone, and Hermione found herself wondering if she was talking to Ron. No sooner the thought occurred than she hated herself for it.

"Yeah." sighed a male voice.  _Harry._  " It's okay..."

She almost laughed bitterly at her stupidity. Of course, it had to be Harry.  _Why would Ron check on her?_

The door was shut and Harry and Ginny's voices muffled before footsteps indicated they had returned downstairs. Hermione took the opportunity to wipe her face properly and steady her nerves. She was being nothing but a fool, she told herself. She was allowing Ron to win again.  _No_ , she decided, she wouldn't think of him again. As it is, she was doing wrong to her boyfriend by crying over her ex. It felt cold somehow, the memories of Draco and the time she had spent with him. The guy was really trying and Hermione hated herself a bit more. Draco was not new to her being miserable over Ron, but she knew he hated it. She pulled the covers over herself as unease flooded her veins. Despite everything, this place was her home, these people were her family. One day everyone would come to know the truth, about Ron and… about Draco. The realisation hit her hard and she shuddered.

_Would they stay by her after Ron told them that he and Hermione weren't together anymore?_

She drew in a deep, steadying breath. Of course, they would, she told herself fiercely. It wasn't like  _she_  had broken their engagement…

_But Draco?_

_She had been alone and lonely, of her own choosing, when Draco had come into her life._  Initially, it was good to be around someone who could take her mind off the constant fear. Eventually, she began to enjoy the casual discussions they had, even though most of it centred around their shared academic interests. The time she spent with him provided the much-needed respite from her memories of Ron. She wasn't even sure how or when it turned into something more than friendship. There wasn't any big moment when her heart fluttered or her senses tingled at his proximity. It was more along the lines of a deep-rooted need for companionship, something that they both needed desperately. They just found each other. And for the past three years, she believed that she could move on, believed that she had indeed moved on. Ron was out of her life, out of her system. She had gone with the flow, taking whatever life gave her, never asking for more. Never truly being happy. Moving ahead with Draco was the natural course from where she stood. But Malfoy Manor would never be what Burrow was. She shuddered again at the old memory, closing her eyes tight and gripping the cover between her fingers. _Once upon a time, only Ron could pull her out from the nightmares..._

She opened her eyes with a snap and exhaled soundly.  _No._  She would  _not_  think of it. Ron's memories would have to stay buried.

But there was no shying away from the truth. Narcissa (if she accepted Hermione at all) would never be the mother figure Molly was. Lucius could die and be reborn but he'd never be even an ounce of what Arthur Weasley was.

Her chest hurt at the mess her life had become and she pulled all her strength to not give in to a fresh bout of tears. Draco was her present, and she'd have to sort her head for it would be that way. Draco was her future. A peculiar, uncomfortable feeling erupted within, an unease of sorts forewarning her that she was not doing the right thing. But she forced the feeling away. A promise was a promise.

The patter of rain had dulled. Hermione pushed away the covers and sat up on her bed, Then, with a determined sigh, she flicked her wand and the sole bedside candle lit. She picked up the candle stand from where it stood and went towards Ginny's desk. Pulling out a parchment and quill from the drawer she sat herself down on the chair. Athena, who had returned in the evening, hooted softly from her perch over the wardrobe.

'Dear Draco,' she wrote and paused. What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him about the turmoil in her heart. Afterall, he was away on a case and it was all about Ron...

'Where are you?' she wrote finally, 'Why haven't you replied to my previous letter? I really hope everything is alright at your end. Have you found something to help you with the case? Write back to me soon.'

She paused once again, her quill hovering over the parchment and dripping ink onto it. Why was it suddenly hard to write one single word? The quill made a vertical stroke but her hand seemed to be revolting against her will. Helpless, she overwrote it, hoping her best that Draco would not notice how 'L' was changed to 'M' . 'Miss you,' she signed off.

She took her time changing into her pyjamas. More alert than before, she could still make out the voices coming from downstairs. Once she was done, she blew out the candle and took her place on the bed again though sleep wasn't ready to bestow her with its presence yet.

Her life seemed to have messed itself up completely ever since she had met Ron at the park. It felt like it had been an unnaturally long day, one that had come quietly and shattered the walls she had built around her heart. Suddenly her past had crashed into her present with the force of a cyclone and left everything in disarray. She knew she had to get over Ron, move away- that was the logical thing to do. Then why was her heart being foolish and clinging to the past? She had spent the first three years after his disappearance crying over him, nursing her broken heart. Each day had been the same-agonising. She had lost count of the nights she had spent awake, searching for a justification for his bitter words. Every minute fearing for his life and hanging on every word the Minister said just to hear a word about him.

And now he was back but everything between them lay in shambles. As the exhaustion from the day finally began to take a toll and her eyes drooped, Hermione wondered where this short stay at the Burrow would lead her.

…...

Hundreds of miles away, Draco opened his window eagerly to let in her owl and hastily untied the letter, snapping it open to read. A few undelivered letters, all addressed to her, lay in front of him and he wondered if the tawny owl was fit enough to carry a triple load of mail.

He scanned through it quickly, and paused abruptly on the word 'previous letter'. He couldn't remember receiving one from her and not replying. In fact, he'd been worried that she hadn't written to him in two whole days. Coaxing the owl to move over the desk, he went through the tiny mountain of parchments in search of a sealed envelope. The tight scroll was almost at the very bottom of the pile. He opened it quickly, berating himself slightly while at the same time, pleasantly surprised at finding not one but two of her notes.

_Dear Draco, (it read)_

_I hope all is well at your end, and you are closer to solving this case. Though in all honesty, I don't know how high the chances for that are._

_Anyway, my case here is stuck with my witness still a mute guest at the hospital. I had to request a delay in the hearing. That leaves me with nothing much to do. Ginny has sent me a threat mail instructing my presence is required at the Burrow at the earliest. I have promised her I'll be there. In fact, I'm arriving there tomorrow and will stay until the wedding. Hopefully, I should be home after the wedding on Sunday._

_Don't worry, I will be okay. You take care of yourself for me and come back soon._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

_PS. Address your letters to The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole._

Whatever happiness he had felt on receiving not one but two of her letters left him completely, and he slumped down on the chair.

She was staying at the Burrow, and most likely so was  _he_.

His heart gave a painful lurch as the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Hermione. But a part of him that he had tried hard to ignore, knew what kind of hold Ronald Weasley had over her. He had spent almost two years seeing the girl he loved cry silent tears for the redhead. And on more occasions than one, he had been the one to lend her a shoulder when she cried over Weasley. He knew her feelings for Ron would never cease to exist. He would always be a part of her, be it in any form, love or hate, pain or anger. Ten years ago if anyone had told him that he'd be jealous of a Weasley he would have scoffed, offended even. And yet, that was the truth today. He was jealous, very jealous of Ron Weasley.

He pulled out a bit of new parchment and his quill, pushing away the annoyance.

' _My Dear Hermione',_  he wrote, ' _I'm sorry I missed the previous mail. Just found it though._   _I have been addressing my letters to your home and office all day today only to receive them back. Was starting to get worried._   _Anyway, I think I am close to solving this case, will tell you more when I see you on Sunday. Let me know as soon as you reach home, please?_   _And do take care. Let me know if you need me anytime.'_

The last bit was wishful thinking, and also a deep-rooted need for assurance. But would Hermione need him when she was surrounded by her family, he wondered.

' _Love,_   _Draco'_ he signed off.

He tied the letter to her owl and set her off. And then rolling back all his parchments, he called the house elf to inform that he was going out for a walk.

He needed fresh air and loads of it too…


	10. Make-Believe and its Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos. I know it has been a very long time since I updated this or any of my stories. If you aren't following me on Tumblr or missed my post, I am stuck big time with some high priority RL issues. As such writing time, and more importantly, the motivation is scarce. Thanks a tonne to one of my rl friends and amazing Beta, Callieskye for editing this chapter that was sitting in my drive. I really needed the positivity that updating a fic provides. I sincerely hope you love this chapter. It was always one of my favourites and now with the changes, it's way more so.

With only two days remaining before the wedding, the Burrow was at its chaotic best. It was noisy and bursting at the seams; the entire Weasley family busy with preparations. If it wasn't enough that Ginny was the first daughter in the family, the wedding itself was also a long time coming. Both the bride and groom's celebrity status made it an extra task to keep the frantic paparazzi at bay. Auror level protection was set up by Ron and Harry on Thursday morning after a few reporters were caught hiding in the orchard.

Hermione, after the first night of overwhelming emotions, had managed to pull herself together. Despite the whirlwind life had suddenly thrown her way, she was determined to stay strong and survive. She was not ready to give up her safe haven to anyone, not even Ron. And, provided she could turn a blind eye to his presence(and the turmoil within), this could be the best time she had had in a long time. She was adamant about soaking in all the happiness life was bestowing on her for a change.

She approached the kitchen earlier the next morning, eager to make up for the time she had stayed away. As expected, Molly was ready with an enormous scroll outlining all the tasks that still remained to be done. Rooms had to be made guest ready, large batches of food had to be cooked, every inch of the house had to be made spotless, and the garden had to be prepped before the Magical Marquee Makers arrived.

With the fifth batch of cauldron cakes in the oven, and the rest stored safely out of reach of the children, Hermione wiped her hands on the towel, feeling more relaxed than she had in years. Molly was prepping the third batch of chicken with Angelina.

"Hermione dear, if you are done with those cakes, would you mind taking out the china?"

"Sure, Molly! Top shelf, left. Am I right?"

"Yes," smiled Molly, as Hermione manoeuvred her way.

She had perhaps forgotten how stuffed the pantry was, or never really appreciated how much food Molly needed to feed the huge family, but what she had initially assumed to be an easy task aided by magic, was anything but. Not only was the box heavy, but her task was made infinitely more tricky due to the presence of the large crates of grocery items on the floor. With her wand supporting the enormous box, she made her way out, eager to place it on the table in one piece.

And then the unthinkable happened.

A two-foot tall hurricane burst into the kitchen, running like a Fanged Frisbee and followed by a shrieking Fleur. Instinctively Hermione raised her wand higher to levitate the box out of range of the impending barrage. However, scared by the combined yells of the other ladies in the kitchen, the child took an unexpected turn, crashing straight into Hermione The spell broke and gravity took over the crate of chinaware. Hermione shrieked, closed her eyes tightly and crossed her arms in front of her face. However, the hit she was expecting never came, instead, there were loud sighs of relief and a cacophony of voices that didn't seem to make sense. She opened her eyes and was pulled to her feet by Audrey. It was only then that she noticed Ron carefully levitating the crate to the table while holding a beaming blond toddler in his free arm.

"Oh my goodness! Are you alright, my darling?" exclaimed Molly, hurrying over to her, and Hermione managed a weak smile.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, dusting off the back of her jeans. Ron, she noticed, was making silly faces with his niece, keeping her away from her furious mother.

"Thees girl she never listens!" exclaimed a highly flustered Fleur as she rushed ahead too. "I am so sorry, "Ermione! Thank goodness Ron arrived just in time!"

As the women all went back to their tasks, still talking about the stroke of luck, Hermione's eyes sought out her saviour. But Ron was already on his way out, still carrying the giggly tot in his arms.

…

In hindsight, the incident from the morning should have told Hermione it was not going to be her day. Hours later, she found herself in close quarters with Ron once again. This occasion, however, was most likely premeditated by the Weasley matriarch herself. She could think of no other reason why she would be sent to change the sheets in all the bedrooms while Ron was already in there cleaning.

Had she known, she would have been more prepared, or not entered his room at all. But by the time she noticed the tall figure at the window with his back towards her, she had already made a loud entrance. Suddenly she found herself alone with him as the door closed shut behind her. As if it wasn't enough of a punch in the gut to be in  _this_  room,  _his_ room- he turned around. Perhaps he was too startled by her presence or she had caught him at the wrong moment, but his mask of indifference was not up yet. His smile, which now on closer inspection, did appear extremely forced, died a slow death. For seconds which seemed to stretch on for years, they stood rooted to spot before he nodded towards the sheets in her arms.

"Your Mum asked me to change these," she replied by way of an explanation, although he didn't ask for any. "I'll just leave them here," she added, dropped a couple of them on his bed and turned away, eager to leave the room before the place brought back more memories than she could handle.

Things were spiralling out. At the door, she paused briefly, contemplating if she was supposed to thank him for saving her from the falling crate this morning. But even facing the other way, Ron's familiar old room was triggering a lot of emotions that she had no hopes of being able to handle without a breakdown.  _This was the room, the very same bed where she had- where they had-_

She nipped that thought in the bud. Feeling his eyes linger on her, she pulled the door open and left without a word. Ron didn't stop her.

…..

Ron watched her leave, standing silently in the background and battling the shadows of their shared past. For the few brief moments she was in his room, life seemed to have come full circle. With a pang in his chest, he realised that he was still holding on to a feeble, impossible hope. But she had walked out this time- and just as he once had, closed the door behind her, leaving him alone to grapple with the echoes of their happier times.

He glanced at the sheets she had left on the bed, and thoughts that were forbidden emerged from deep within. Did she remember those nights too, he wondered. It had been years and yet, the memories were painfully vivid. He remembered every touch, every moan, every single whimper...

"Stop," he pleaded aloud into the empty space, and shut his eyes firmly, grabbing the windowsill till his knuckles turned white. Her image, however, was imprinted in the shadows behind his eyelids. He could almost hear her laughter, could see her rolling her eyes and huffing in annoyance. Perhaps memories of her were embedded in every brick of this room. He opened his eyes, breathing in gasps, and contemplated if Disapparating away for a few hours would hurt anyone as much as staying was hurting him.

The door opened before he had come to a decision.

"Ron?"

"Harry," he replied without turning around. The floorboard creaked behind him and the door was shut before Harry came forward to stand next to him.

Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, and sighed. "I'm sorry, mate," he said softly.

"Why?" Ron asked, trying hard to sound normal. He even attempted a smile though he knew Harry wouldn't buy it. Hopefully, his mask of control was back on.

"Shouldn't have made such a fuss about the wedding. I know how hard it must be for you to be here," Harry said as he looked out over the open grounds.

Ron let out a dry chuckle and clapped Harry on his shoulder. "As if Mum would allow that, mate. And, honestly, I'd hate if you did that. You've waited too long for this. I want you guys to be happy."

"D'you really think a big wedding can make up for seeing my best friends miserable?" Harry asked.

Ron looked away quickly. "I'm sorry, mate, but I'm trying," he replied. Harry let out a frustrated groan.

"Really, you prat?!" he fumed, "I don't expect you to  _act_  happy for our sake, Ron and I don't want you to stay away! I want you guys to be actually happy!"

"I can't do much about that, now can I?"

"Yes, you can, Ron. Talk to her! Tell her what happened! Sort it out!"

Ron dragged his hands through his hair, sighing quietly to himself. "Y'know I can't do that."

"Why? Because you are a bloody masochist?" fumed Harry.

"No, 'cause I've hurt her enough for a lifetime, already!" he snapped back, exhaled heavily and softened his tone. "I forced my decision on her once, Harry. I won't put her in that situation ever again."

"I'm not telling you to force anything on her, Ron. All I am saying is-  _tell her the truth._  And then, let  _her_  decide."

"You aren't getting me, mate. She doesn't want to hear me out, and I  _won't_  force her to."

Harry grumbled under his breath, words Ron couldn't decipher, but he thought he heard a 'wanker' and smiled fondly.

"You're getting married, mate. Stop thinking about us. Enjoy yourself."

Harry walked away to slump on the bed. He ran his fingers through his ever unruly hair, catching the sight of the freshly laundered sheets Hermione had left behind.

"I saw her carrying these earlier. Was she here too?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Ron replied and turned away to gaze out the window again.

"Heard about the accident in the kitchen. Did she say something?" he asked hopefully.

"Glad she didn't," he replied. Did Hermione realise that he'd been unintentionally looking out for her? He hoped not. He wasn't really supposed to, but on the other hand, he shuddered to think what'd have happened if he'd been a minute too late. "We never used to thank each other for watching our backs, did we? I don't want her to start now."

He heard Harry let out a tired sigh; Ron was exhausted too.

"I always reckoned you guys were made for each other. What happened, Ron?" he asked sadly.

"I messed it up," he muttered.

…..

The length of Molly's intimidating to-do list had convinced Hermione that they would all be busy until the very last minute before the wedding. Having so many people in the house was a hidden blessing though; there was never a dearth of helping hands, and by late afternoon the next day, to the relief of all, most of the work was wrapped up. Post a delicious meal and a lot of laughter (which she, surprisingly, found herself a part of), the family began to disperse. She had decided to focus on the celebrations and ignore Ron completely and was happy to be able to stick to the plan. It kept her sane and happy.

Hermione was busy with the dishes when she heard Ron and Harry say their goodbyes. Harry still had a packed schedule, needing to wrap up his official duties before taking off for the wedding and honeymoon Ron, she assumed, was at the Burrow only on his mother's insistence. If she was not mistaken, he had not yet resumed his Auror duties, but that didn't stop him from leaving the house under some pretext or the other.

With the Weasley matriarch having retired to her room for some much-deserved rest, Hermione and Ginny cleaned up the kitchen before trudging up to their own bedroom. Ginny was the first to crash on the bed.

"I can't wait for Kreacher to take over the housework!" she exclaimed, words muffled by the pillow as she flopped onto her stomach.

"Now you know how hard they work," Hermione replied, sitting down on hers, removing her shoes and pushing them aside.

"I don't care, Hermione," Ginny replied in an exhausted voice. "Mum should never be allowed to plan weddings."

"You know that will never happen. She's too good." she grinned, as she leaned back and let out a relieved sigh as her sore back muscles hit the mattress.

"Good? Hah! She works us like elves! You guys better elope," muttered Ginny, her voice now heavily laced with sleep. A searing pain shot through her heart.

"Ginny, I- " she began uncomfortably, and turned to face her friend, but the bride-to-be had already dozed off.

She had hoped for a lie-down, but with the complication of the situation brought to the fore by one simple sentence by her friend, she only managed to twist and turn uncomfortably for a while before she gave up all hope. Hoping a warm bath could help soothe her anxiety, she picked herself up and pulled out her bag from under the bed.

Ron was trying hard to appear normal, she thought, as she collected a fresh dress and her toiletries from the bag. He spoke little at the mealtimes- not that Hermione was observing discreetly- it was just obvious that she barely heard his voice, which she could still make out distinctly no matter how loud the Weasley dining table got. She dropped her wand on the bed and picked up the bottle of shampoo, wondering to herself if she had enough energy to wash and then untangle her hair.

A part of her was disappointed that most of the work was finished. It was easier to keep those painful memories away while she was busy following one of Molly's recipes or wrapping the gifts. However, the dreamy silent afternoon along with the familiar creaking of the old staircase brought along the memories she had so far managed to hold at bay. She wandered up the staircase slowly, pushed open the bathroom door and absentmindedly dropped the bottles near the tub.

Her hair was a mess, all frizzed up from the humidity of the kitchen. She had to wash it. Her fingers undid the braids while her thoughts strayed back to the one person she was trying very hard not think about. Had everyone noticed that Ron and she were barely talking? Perhaps not. George was only musing the other night that Ron had changed a lot since his return. She had to agree. He had always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Love, hate, pain, jealousy- every emotion written clearly on his face. Now it was as if there was a mask over it all the time- a blank slate that made it so hard to decipher what he was thinking. What had changed, she wondered before chuckling bitterly to herself. Everything had- their life, their feelings, their dreams- even they themselves. She stripped down absentmindedly and dropped her dirty laundry down the shoot. Finally, she lowered herself into the warm water, sighing with pleasure.

She could fall asleep here, but deciding she ought to wash her hair first, she took up the daunting task. Hours later (or perhaps days), with her curls feeling sparklingly clean and arms aching, she rested her back against the bath again.

Two more days, and then she could return to her flat and her normal, familiar life. Lonely perhaps, but she was used to that by now. Her job and her life would keep her busy and Ron would be busy with his. Would they ever come face to face again? And what would happen once the family came to know the truth? Something told her Molly and Ginny would not take the news well. How would life be after that disclosure? And, Ron? Would he move on? Could she?

It was that last thought pulled her out of her reverie. Annoyed and furious at herself she pulled herself out of the bath; she was  _not_ supposed to be thinking about Ron!

She grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped it around her body only then realising that whoever was supposed to restock the shelf with extra towels had forgotten to do so. With her wet hair dripping onto her shoulder she drained the tub and looked around for the rest of her items- only, there was nothing.

"Merlin's pants!" she groaned aloud. She had forgotten her clothes and even her wand back in the room!

…

Ron was tired of sitting on the couch in his parents' living room waiting for Harry to get back. He looked at his watch as he rolled his wand between his fingers.

"Bloody hell," he murmured and leaned back; it had been half an hour already. The old couch creaked under his weight as he grumbled and pushed himself off. "How much longer, mate," he said to himself and decided he could at least fetch himself a cup of tea. What he really wanted was a firewhiskey, but tea would have to do. If he and Harry were not planning to meet the boys later, he'd have left alone. In fact, all he wanted to do was get away from the crowd, but his best mate had taken it upon himself to not let Ron brood in solitude.  _Wanker_.

Harry wasn't back even after he had finished his tea. How long could that bloke take to discuss one little thing? He made his way to the living room and stopped mid-step as another thought occurred to him-  _she_ could come down any moment. And that, he realised miserably, would be the last thing he needed. Never in his worst nightmares had he ever thought, he'd be better off not seeing her. As the pain in his chest intensified, Ron reckoned it'd be wiser for him to hide in his room. She'd never go up there. Having made the decision, he dropped his jacket on the chair so Harry would know he hadn't left, and trudged up the staircase.

….

Clad only in a soaking towel and stuck inside the bathroom, Hermione grumbled under her breath. How could she forget everything back in Ginny's room?!

"Got no option, have I?" she mused aloud. At least, no one apart from Ginny and Molly was home.

She wrapped the towel more snugly around her chest, grabbing the open ends in her hand at her chest and opened the door, eager to rush downstairs.

Unfortunately, there was someone on the landing already…

…

He was sure the world had stopped spinning.

Ron stood where he was, with one foot hovering between steps and stared transfixed. How had he forgotten how insanely beautiful she looked fresh out of a bath- her wet curls dripping on her shoulder, cheeks flushed scarlet, lips apart and glistening with moisture…

His eyes were drawn to a spot just below her ear. 'Pleasure point' she had told him once, and he had pressed his lips to the soft skin with wondrous results. That night, and on many others that followed, he had traced every single one of those with his lips, and Hermione had come undone in his arms- _again and again._

In that moment, Ron understood what 'breathless' meant. His eyes sought hers again, perhaps in hopes of finding the girl he had lost, and the spell broke; Hermione looked uncomfortable under his gaze.

He looked away immediately, his heart berating him and ripping into pieces, again. He'd briefly forgotten that he was no longer allowed to watch her this way. Not supposed to remember those memories...

He turned away, still struggling to breathe, unable to erase the vision from his eyes. He heard the door shut and soft footsteps made their way downstairs. The words were out of his lips before he could stop himself.

"Harry's in Gin's room. You might wanna get dressed first."

He heard her pause and shuffle but didn't give in to the urge to turn around.

"I-I left my clothes and wand in her room," she replied in a small voice.

"Do you-" he began and stopped. What was he about to say? That he'd bring her, her clothes? That he still couldn't imagine anyone else seeing her this vulnerable? Nah, he couldn't. The only thing he could do was conjure her a robe, he decided at last and patted his jeans. Fuck, the wand was in his jacket downstairs.

"I left my wand in the kitchen," he explained, not sure what he wanted her response to be.

"It's okay," she murmured, and took another few steps, but he called her again.

"You're soaking..." he said very quietly.

…

Hermione couldn't have imagined this situation in her dreams.

" _You're soaking..."_

His voice ignited a fire deep within her; one, she thought, she had lost forever. The way his eyes lingered on her body before he looked away evoked emotions that scared her. Hermione wanted to run away and hide, even from herself, but some stronger force rooted her to the spot. She could do nothing but stand and watch him fumble.

And then, he untucked his shirt from his jeans, and whatever little sense she had left was lost.

Her brain told her to look away, but she was too helpless, captivated by the sight in front of her. The buttons were undone slowly, she could tell that by the flinching of his shoulder muscles. The shirt slid off his back and her cheeks flushed crimson. At least Ron was wearing an undershirt. The brain scars, Hermione noticed, were still visible, a mesh of white lines crisscrossing across his arms to end near his upper arms. It was all so familiar, even after years. Her fingertips tingled, recalling how his skin felt under them. Why were the memories so strong? Why had they not faded over the years? Why were they so fresh despite all the hurt? Everything was painfully familiar as if it was only yesterday that she had woken up in his bed. As he pulled his arms from the sleeves, Hermione noticed that the only difference was that his body was that of an Auror now- hard, strong, toned and scared more than before.

She averted her eyes quickly when he turned around and came down the few steps that separated them. When Ron wordlessly extended the shirt, she looked first at his hands and then his eyes. But he was looking at a spot a foot above her head, his mask firmly back in place.

She could have bolted downstairs or yelled at Ginny to bring her the clothes, but she did none of those. Instead, she took the proffered article- a small blue and white checkered shirt that smelled of Ron. He paused for the briefest minute and then turned away. Within two heartbeats, he had climbed up the stairs and was gone.

She walked back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her brain was begging her to throw the shirt away, but the girl in the mirror was saying something else. She dropped the wet towel on the floor and slowly put on the large shirt. It was huge, reaching almost to her knees, and very comfortable- just like always. Somewhere, in a different lifetime, Ron's clothes were her favourite sleepwear. They smelled of him and reminded her of his touches when the cloth rubbed against her bare skin...

She stood watching her own reflection and wondered if she had indeed changed in these years.  _Yes, she had,_  reminded her brain, fighting furiously to cling to her resolve. But then,  _why did the girl in the mirror still look like she had already lost the fight?_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a review and thanks for reading. (If you have any spare, could you send some positive thoughts our way? Perhaps that'll help sort the mess we are in and help me get back to writing and posting more frequently.)


	11. Midnight Realisations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout out to my friend and beta Callieskye who continues to insist that she doesn't like angst but ensures she makes this so deliciously angsty by her magic touches here and there.

Saturday night found the Burrow bursting at the seams with all the Weasley boys and their better halves staying back. Harry, who was trying his level best to act in control and unperturbed by Ginny's sudden and totally unexpected anxiety attack, was seriously questioning his decision to stay the night at the Weasley house. Ginny was usually the one in control, and to see  _her_  so jittery was making him more nervous than he already was.  _Surely she wasn't planning to call off the wedding? Nah, she wouldn't go to that extreme_ , he was sure. But yeah, he had no freaking clue how to calm his fiancée, and definitely not while he was struggling to come to terms with his own mixed feelings. On one hand, he was ecstatic, so much so that he was sure his brain still hadn't comprehended it completely. Finally, after years of waiting, he was going to marry Ginny; they'd have their own little family and he wouldn't be the only Potter _._ However, there was also an ache in his heart. He missed his parents, just as much as he missed Sirius and Lupin.

He was quite relieved when Molly shooed everyone to bed after an early dinner. He needed the time alone to sort his head. He was among the first to tread up the stairs and retire to his room, leaving Ginny clinging to her father as she had been doing all day.

Harry had already changed into his pyjamas when the sound of a slightly heavier footstep approached. Dropping down on his bed, he watched with a fond smile as his best mate entered the room and shut the door behind him.

_Ron was back_.  _He was marrying Ginny. And Ron was finally back._

The heaviness in his chest eased substantially, and he grinned at his best mate.

"Hey," Ron called as he peeled off his jacket and dropped it on the bed. "You practically ran outta there the moment Mum said 'go'. You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied honestly, feeling lighter, happier. He was being an idiot. His family was right here- Ron was right here. "Nerves, mate. No experience of getting married, you see-"

"Wedding jitters, eh?" Ron grinned.

"It's real, Ron! Trust me!"

Ron laughed harder, the first time in days, as he sat down on his bed, "Don't go and faint during the wedding. Ginny won't like it one bit," he chortled.

"Wanker! I'll see how you cope when Herm-"

The rest of the words died on his lips as quickly as the mirth did on Ron's features.

"Fuck," Harry swore, berating himself.

Ron let out a small, sad chuckle and looked away, busying himself with getting out of his tee while Harry admonished himself furiously.

He wanted to coax Ron into a discussion, force him somehow to talk to Hermione and sort out this mess. His brain kept telling him to shut the fuck up and not make matters worse, but he needed his best friends to get back together and be happy. Seeing Hermione clad in Ron's oversized button-down the other day had given him much needed ray of hope. Maybe all was not lost yet, maybe their relationship was still salvageable?

"Spoke to her yet?" he asked before Ron could lie down and (he was sure) fake sleep.

"No."

The tone was indicative enough of Ron's reluctance to discuss the matter further but Harry wasn't planning to give up so easily. Hermione and Ron hadn't given up on him when he was a mess after he lost Sirius.

"Look, I think she's cooling down a bit. Maybe you can try-"

"Harry," Ron cut him off mid-sentence. "It's over, mate," he added, words laced with deep melancholy, "She might be curious, perhaps she never thought I'd keep my word, y'know? But that's all it is. There's nothing more from her end than curiosity. Nothing."

"That good though," he mused aloud, "she's rubbish at controlling her curiosity. She's bound to give you a chance to explain," he insisted.

"She might no longer be the girl I- we knew," Ron replied in a quiet voice.

"Say what you will, mate, but behind all that hurt, she's the same Hermione we've always known." Harry pondered briefly before mentioning what had been on his mind since the day before. "Ron, I- we saw her wearing your shirt the other day, and it - hey! where're do ya think you're going at this hour?!"

"Outside, I forgot something at Grimmauld Place," Ron provided as he hurried to grab the tee he had discarded earlier.

_Great, now his big mouth had made it worse._

"You can't run away from this forever," he grumbled, but Ron chose not to answer as he looked hurriedly for his wand.

Harry sat up on his bed and watched stoically as Ron retrieved his jacket from the bed.

"Firewhiskey won't solve this for you, Ron."

Ron let out a bitter chuckle. "Nothing will- but I need to get out. I'll be back in a bit."

As he pulled the door open Harry cursed aloud before he called out one last time. "If you come back sloshed, I swear I'll kick your arse before Ginny kills you, Ron!" Harry heard a small laugh as the door clicked shut.

…..

He ran into Hermione and his sister on his way down. Ginny glanced at him curiously and he smiled dismissively before hastening past as Hermione moved over to give him more than enough space. He didn't look at her face. He'd avoided her religiously since the day he'd seen her walk out of the bath; he had to keep his heart safe, keep the act of normalcy going.

His steps guided him out of the door, deep into the orchard, but the soreness in his heart refused to dim. If the pain of losing her wasn't enough, now, each waking minute in her presence reminded him how he'd lost her- along with the will to live.

Deep in the thicket, he slumped down on a rotting piece of wood and yelled hoarsely at the wilderness. It was getting harder; he was only human after all.

After what seemed like ages, he picked himself up. Walking briskly, Ron Disapparated the moment he crossed the Burrow's protective perimeter. He appeared in a dark alleyway somewhere in the heart of London. He hurried his steps, hopefully, a pub somewhere would still be open- he desperately needed a drink.

Ron entered the first bar he could find and regretted it almost immediately. The crowd and the ambience were disturbingly familiar. He had almost turned to leave when a bloke behind the bar called.

"Drink?"

He glanced at the bottle of whiskey and weighed his options. At this hour, every muggle bar would probably be the same. He could go to the Leaky, but people would recognise him. The Prophet wasn't happy being kept away from covering the wedding; they were desperate for something to report. They'd print anything at this point, the more malicious the better. 'Harry Potter's best mate found drunk the night before the big day' would make for a rubbish headline but it would still sell like hot cauldron cakes.

"On the rocks," he ordered and sat himself down on the rickety old stool.

Halfway through his third bottle, and still miserably sober, he took in the smoke-filled room and the general stink. Everything in there was a trigger, and his perpetual headache was getting worse but what he had come here to forget hadn't faded a bit from his memories.

_Fuck, Harry!_

He could still visualize her so clearly- clad in that damp towel, water droplets clinging onto her skin and glistening in the light- a stark reminder of all that he craved, all that he'd once had… and all that he'd lost forever. He let out an exhausted sigh. She was everything- his hopes, his dreams... his will to live.

Ron refilled his glass and took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wanted to scream, to cry, to leave everything behind and escape, even if it was back into the forest. He wanted to turn the clock back, to any part of his life except where he currently was. Fuck, he'd do anything, relive the worst days again if only he could get back his hopes of coming back to her, to hear her call his name again without the indifference and hate.

_She'd never do that again, would she?_ There was nothing left in him anymore. She had torn him apart.  _No... correction. He had made a bloody mess of his life. He should never've hurt her that way, never left her._

Her tear-stained face materialised in front of him and he took a swig to subdue the guilt burning his insides. "You fucking deserve it, Ron!" he told himself. And now she didn't need him anymore.  _Why the fuck was he still alive?_

"I need to get back," he mumbled as he signalled the bartender for another bottle. Gulping down the contents of the glass in one go, he banged the empty glass down on the counter, and the man refilled it yet again.

He had to get out of the Burrow, he decided, and soon.

As happy he was to see his family all safe and celebrating, a core part of himself was missing, perhaps forever. Hopefully, Kingsley wouldn't mind if he joined back up before the fixed date. Harry would be on leave, the team could use a spare hand. "Yeah," he slurred aloud, "gotta join back." he took another swig and laughed bitterly. If he was lucky maybe he'd die on one of the missions this time.

…..

"Hey. Ready to call it a night?" called Hermione, softly.

Ginny, who was sitting on the old couch next to Arthur, glanced up at her words and picked herself up after giving her father a quick hug. Arthur patted his daughter fondly on the head. "Off you go and get some sleep. Don't want to madden your mum, do we?" he joked. The girls chuckled, and after wishing him 'night trudged their way up the staircase.

"Are you okay?" Hermione inquired as they walked side by side.

"Yeah," responded Ginny, the hint of nerves obvious in her tone. "Who knew getting married would be more nerve wracking than playing international Quidditch?"

"I sure didn't," she chuckled in response.

They hastened their steps, the wood creaking under their feet, and were only halfway up to Ginny's bedroom when a pair of heavy and hurried footsteps were heard coming down. Hermione noticed Ron immediately- her senses on high alert. She looked away just as quickly when he came to an abrupt halt before them- Hermione grabbing the bannister hard. Ever since the shirt episode, they had successfully avoided each other. It had been easier to control her messed up emotions this way. Although she dearly loved an intense mental exercise, she knew the situation was way too complicated for her to make sound judgements- avoidance was the best option. He was already making a dent in her armour and her pride was not enjoying that one bit. And for that very reason, she needed Ron to leave right away- the situation was much too familiar and agonising.

Lost in her thoughts she missed the short conversation between the siblings but scooted as close to Ginny as she could to give him enough space to hurry downstairs. A small part of her wanted to know where he was off to and why he was in such a rush, but she nipped that thought in the bud, choosing to take a few hurried steps upstairs instead.

"I wonder where he's off to at this hour," mused his sister, putting words to her thoughts and Hermione pretended not to have heard.

Once in the bedroom, Ginny collapsed on her old bed, sighing softly. "I don't stay at home very often anymore, but I'm still gonna miss all this, y'know?" she said, patting the mattress.

"I know what you mean, Ginny. But don't worry, it's just a four-second Apparation away. Plus, Harry wouldn't miss one of your Mum's Sunday dinners, of that I'm sure."

"Or...maybe he will if we have other  _plans_..." grinned Ginny, while Hermione spat out the water she was drinking, coughing wildly.

"Oh, please, Ginny! No details! Harry's like my brother and that's just- just gross!" she sputtered, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"Oh come on! I wouldn't say 'gross'! I'd say-" laughed Ginny, as she started stripping.

"-uh oh! Too much information there, lady!"

They laughed as they changed into their nightwear and Hermione cross checked all the items they would need the next morning before she collapsed on her bed. Ginny, she noticed, was lying on her side, picking a thread on the bedspread.

"It all feels a bit-"

"-surreal?" she provided as she laid down and turned to her right to face her friend.

"Yeah,"

Hermione glanced at the freckled face, the candlelight glinting off her sleek red hair and smiled fondly, remembering how pathetic Harry had been back in their sixth year. She clearly remembered their stay during that last carefree summer. Those were the best times with Ginny, Harry, she and Ro-

A sharp exhale left her before she could hold it back. She dropped back on the pillow, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, trying hopelessly to forget the memories that had forced their way to the fore,  _again._

"There was a time while you guys were away when this day seemed like a far-fetched dream," continued Ginny, "- I didn't think we've ever make it this far."

"I know…" she breathed softly while a couple of tears trickled their way down the rim of her eyes.

"I always hoped we were made for each other, y'know?" Ginny spoke again, unaware how her words tore through Hermione, reminding her of a future she had once so desired- a future which she knew was an impossible dream now. "Hoped we'd get through everything and make it happen. It was hard when Harry broke it off with me; I never wanted to believe it'd be anyone but him."

Hermione only managed a small sound to indicate she was still awake and listening; her throat so terribly choked up it felt as if she was being strangled from the inside out.

"But it's all past us now. I am so happy, Hermione,"

She inhaled deeply and with much difficulty, before turning toward Ginny once more, "I am so happy for the two of you. You guys made it!" she beamed, eyes glistening, hoping feverently for Ginny to mistake them as happy tears.

"I know," smiled Ginny, and held on to her gaze till it made Hermione uncomfortable. It was as if Ginny could see right through the lies and was reading her mind. Hermione looked away quickly and wiped off the tears with her hand.

"I should probably keep my tears in check till your vows tomorrow. And we should really catch some sleep now. G'night Gin."

Hermione blew out the candle and turned to face the wall, pulling the blanket over her, a steady stream of moisture still running down her face and soaking the pillow.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she replied, face buried in the cushion.

"You guys are okay, right?"

She didn't need to ask what Ginny was referring to. The longing in Ginny's voice was way too much, and Hermione was sorely tempted to tell her friend the truth, and for once, let out the pain and cry her eyes out.

"Yeah, we'll be okay," she lied instead.

"I sure hope so. You guys are so miserable without each other."

…..

Miles away in London, a pale, young man stood on the small balcony jutting out from his tenth floor flat, gazing off into the horizon.

He had a busy schedule the following week and his body begged to sleep, but he hadn't heard from her all day- in fact, he hadn't received a single letter in two whole days. He was well aware that the ache in his heart would not subside by taking a nap. His impatience and jealousy grew as the hours passed, and so did the fear of losing her.

Perhaps she was busy helping out, he told himself. Obviously, the pathetic Weasleys wouldn't be able to afford additional help, he thought bitterly. But he knew his hate was not directed at the whole family. In fact, it wasn't even true anymore. The Weasley children were all very successful now. There was just one reason for his resentment- Ronald Weasley.

Images of Ron and Hermione together haunted his nightmares, and the situation was made worse by her silence. He had received precious little news from her end- just a few lines stating she was well. And it  _could_  be his bitterness clouding his perception, but her letters no longer seemed to emit the warmth they earlier did. He wondered if the weasel had finally managed to worm his way back into her heart.

_Perhaps he had begged her to take her back and she couldn't resist?_

Rage and pain crashed in equal measure at the thought and he began pacing to lose steam.  _No, Hermione wouldn't do such a thing,_ he told himself over and over. Weasley had hurt her too much. She was too proud to take him back, he told himself. He heaved a sigh, forcing himself to push his doubts aside.

_But how long would she be able to guard her heart against him?_

They went back a long way and as much as his jealousy wanted him to deny it, their bond was not so fragile. In fact, it was ridiculously strong, far more than his and Hermione's any day. They would have to come face to face- family gatherings, criminal cases, charity events- the list was endless. _And wouldn't seeing him day after day break her resolve?_

As much as he pretended he was okay, he hated that his relationship with Hermione had stalled…. physically. They often spent their nights together but the intimacy was limited to kissing and on some occasions a precious little more. She claimed she needed time, and he had promised her he'd take it as slow as she needed. He wanted to pretend it was a gentleman's move but the truth was he was fucking scared of jeopardizing his dreams. He promised her he'd wait till she was ready, but now with Ron Weasley in the picture,  _would she ever be ready?_

Fear, doubt and envy clouded his vision and he rushed inside to fetch a drink.

After one bottle of Firewhiskey lay empty in front of him, he wobbled his way to the bedroom.

"Tomorrow," he announced as he slumped on the bed. He was done being scared- scared of losing her, scared of Weasley taking her away. He wanted her back, he wanted her forever. He had lost everything once before, Hermione was all he had left. He wasn't ready to lose this time. He needed her. Draco decided he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Once she was back, he'd ask her to marry him and be his forever.

"You'll be mine, only mine," he declared into the empty room as sleep claimed him.

…

_Unbeknown to all of them, Destiny had made her own plans. And she had already marked a pawn. She would make the first move tomorrow._


End file.
